


A Thousand Dreadful Things: France

by TheUberhundt (JoanieLSpeak)



Series: A Thousand Dreadful Things [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, Pusher (Refn Movies), Pusher II: With Blood on My Hands, Pusher III: I'm the Angel of Death
Genre: Angst, Cannibalism, Charlotte (Pusher) - Freeform, Derogatory Language, Drug Use, Emotional Manipulation, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Infidelity, Jack Crawford - Freeform, Kurt (Pusher) - Freeform, Loss of Trust, Love/Hate, M/M, Manipulation, Murder, Obsession, Parent-Child Relationship, Prison, Suicide Attempt, The Duke (Pusher) - Freeform, Violence, Ø (Pusher) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-09-19 02:26:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 50
Words: 124,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9413819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoanieLSpeak/pseuds/TheUberhundt
Summary: After the tragic events of New Years, Will must fight to piece his family back together while Tonny struggles just to keep himself alive. Meanwhile, Hannibal basks in the chaos he's created for this family as he bends the circumstances to his whim.





	1. Abandoned the True Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter begins the story in late September (3ish months before the events of [TDT:Winter](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8720476/) take place).

Hannibal gracefully slipped along the opulent stalls of the French marketplace, glancing across the rows and baskets of vibrant late summer produce. The fruits were delicately warming under the early morning sun and their sweet perfumes mingled and caught in his nose, reminding him of honey and overly-ripe plums. Today he was on a mission for chanterelles. It was late September and he was rejuvenated by these still-warm but fresher days. The autumnal colors were just beginning to peek out from among the rich summer greenery that surrounded the marketplace. Young sweet radishes, tender frisée, plump green artichokes, and the last of the summer tomatoes caught his eye as he recalled each flavor in his mouth and nose. He leaned forward and inhaled the warm air over the piles and crates of fresh greens and herbs and, sharing his desires with the vendor, he watched, smiling with delight, as they bundled and wrapped his selections.

He was, by all accounts, happy here. His new estate looked out over verdant rolling hillsides and a seemingly endless vineyard. His chateau was tucked within the lush Northern Burgundy region of France, and it was both beautiful and secluded. His mornings were often spent delighting in the sights and smells of this fragrant and abundant marketplace. His evenings were mostly enjoyed in solitude, allowing for careful contemplation. Hannibal was never above an evening of meditative reflection, but one does grow tired of such a simple life. While he now only lectured and taught – no longer practicing psychiatry – he had refused to compromise one particular indulgence: his diet. It continued to remain rich and varied in all aspects.

Back at his vineyard, Hannibal greeted Anouk, his housekeeper, as he delivered his purchases to the kitchen. Anouk was intrigued by Hannibal’s uncharacteristically good mood. He seemed downright enthusiastic to be alive.

“You seem particularly taken by your visit to the market, Hannibal,” she said in her sweet sing-songy French accent. Anouk was young and beautiful, a demure woman, both sweet and caring, and along with household duties, she happily tended to any extraneous tasks that Hannibal asked of her. She had a fondness for Hannibal, and though she was hired help, they often referred to each other in more informal terms. That is, unless Anouk sensed a particular intensity to the way the man carried himself. Hannibal, too, found comfort in having Anouk around him. She was elegant, charming and, most importantly, unobtrusive.

“It's a good day for the mind, and I do believe the palate. Do join me for dinner,” he insisted with a smile, unpacking his parcels.

“Of course,” she smiled. “I can handle these if you would like to enjoy your walk in the vineyard,” she suggested, and Hannibal nodded his gratitude as he departed through the patio door at the far end of the kitchen.    

Outside among the hedgerows that lined the gardens surrounding the house, Hannibal strolled, inhaling the scent of the vineyard as it floated through the breeze. It was the harvest season, and he noted in the air scents of a sun-warmed D’Anjou pear, the flesh of a Fuji apple, and the sweet smell of fermentation, as they wafted around him while he walked. Today was a very good day indeed, for he had just received the news he had been hoping for and it had set in motion a plot.


	2. Through this Blind Prison

It was 9:30 pm, and with a metallic thud, his door locked. 

Tonny sat motionless on the edge of his mattress, a trash bin between his feet, and his face buried in his hands. His swollen eyes were red and tender as his all-consuming grief rendered him useless, sniveling and scared. The skin of his face, raw and burning, pulled and stung from hours of endlessly sobbing for his loss. 

Tonny’s prison sentence was to be carried out in his homeland, of course, so he was rapidly extradited out of his American holding cell and away from Will’s comforting reach. Denmark was, at least, more humane that American prisons, affording him a great deal more protection from gross and negligent mistreatment. This, unfortunately, wasn’t always the case, as Tonny would soon discover.

Denmark rarely imprisoned its population with extremely lengthy or unfair sentences as they were far more partial to rehabilitating their prisoners than punishing them. A relative saving grace for the man. But Tonny had been through this system before, and reliving it alone and terrified for his son was a nightmare he was not prepared for.

And so he sat, fearful and crying, his limbs shaking with unrelenting hopelessness as he recalled in his mind those final few moments before being escorted away from the only love he’d ever felt. He pictured that kiss – that last warm embrace – but it brought no comfort to the broken and terrified man.

It had been twenty-nine days since he was ripped from Will and Aksel, and he was terrorized with worry for his son. What had he done to him? How could he have failed him so miserably? He  _ knew _ his son’s mother, Charlotte, and he knew his bright little boy. The thought of Aksel being subjected to her was more than he could bear, and he’d spent most of those twenty-nine days lying in his bed, unwilling to eat and unable to sleep, heartbroken and scared. 

At his trial for the abduction, however, Tonny was briefly grateful to learn that his son’s quality of life while under his illegal care would be the deciding factor of the severity of his punishment. Aksel, according to the court, had been well looked after, and thanks to Will’s unwavering devotion to the child, the boy was healthy, well-adjusted, and loved dearly by his parents. It was this evidence that had the potential to considerably lessen Tonny’s sentence.

The trial, though, elicited more than just an unwavering sense of fear for his son. It also exposed an ignored and painful reality. Though he could explain his immediate concern for Aksel’s well-being if left in Charlotte’s drug-addled care four years ago, Tonny had no rational argument to give the court against Aksel being returned to her now. As much as Tonny hated to admit it, Will had no legal claim to their son, and they were both devastated by this fact. He was forced to painfully observe Will sit alone in the courtroom, Will’s heart crushed and shattered as he watched his confused and innocent child being led away from him by the boy’s biological mother. His potential guardianship had been completely ignored, with Tonny unable to legally defend Will’s relationship to his son.

The physical torment was already taking its toll on Tonny’s body and mind, and he found himself lost in a depression far more vast than he had ever experienced. There was no bottom to this pit. It was an endless and abysmal boiling sea of self-loathing and misery.

The only ray of hope Tonny saw through this maelstrom was that at the end of his sentence, he would regain his shared parental rights and his family could once again be reunited. He felt this both as incredible news and as a cruel and unjust joke. The trial for his father’s murder had been set for August – a long and agonizing seven months into his sentence – and it carried with it the risk of fifteen additional years in prison. Tonny, lost in an endless sea of despair, unwilling and unable to fight the torrent as he drowned in the all-encompassing guilt of destroying his family, was forced to accept that he had  _ no _ hope of ever reclaiming his son.

He had no plan. He had no money. He had no friends, or help, or hope. He was scared and alone, uncertain when he would next see Will. He exhaled a wheezing breath as his body was engulfed in pain and regret for the impulsive, violent decisions that had brought them all to this hell on earth. He felt sick with disgust.

He was currently sentenced with one year in this place. It was a dizzying prospect, and he felt himself becoming short of breath thinking about it. Denied one year away from his family – if he even still had a family. He would lose one year with Will. He would miss all of Aksel being 5. He was overcome with a surge of guilt, and as it overwhelmed his body yet again, he vomited and spit into the bin between his feet. 

It had never been this bad before – going to prison; but with Will he had tasted happiness, and the stark contrast of how his life  _ could _ be versus what he was now forced to endure was mind-numbingly great. In his youth, prison was almost something to do – a few months of steady work, a paycheck, a warm bed, food, the opportunity to get clean. But now, knowing that Aksel was lost, terrified, and suffering with a stranger, and that Will was out of his mind with worry, fighting to get the boy back, he felt like he would never recover from this nightmare. An entire year lay in front of him. Three hundred sixty-five nights that Aksel would go to bed without the safety or comfort of his own father, or even Will. He shook his head in agony as his burning eyes welled with tears once again.

He laid back on his stiff mattress and stared at the blank ceiling, disgusted and unable to care about the trial that awaited him. Each time his lawyer attempted to discuss the legal proceedings, his mind would fog over with confusion and disbelief, his concentration and comprehension waning.  _ This was the shit Will handled,  _ he thought,  _ I’m too fucking dumb to understand it _ . What he  _ had _ gathered was that the trial hinged on the testimony of two witnesses who could place him, bloody and nervous, in his father’s garage the night of the murder. He didn’t know who these people were, or what they knew, but it didn’t matter. Tonny knew he was guilty. Will knew he was guilty. He still pleaded his innocence per Will’s instructions, but he was losing faith. This year was beginning with a god-awful bang, and a part of him – a larger part than he was comfortable with – wanted to end it all right now, in this cell, before he could hurt anyone else.


	3. No Thief is He

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you are wondering about Tonny's cell, this is what an [average Danish open prison cell/room looks like](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/gR6rlJwYhlwFh4J-DUDXo4sfUTf34tYabzLmi9wr4c1XBSYMIpxXBN-NbKhCyOLtuTnoCVNoyBUxyCPvnGnWTc-YLjb9-h8Iii2PccGflEiPFT15Y8-kARObv1abx72ZmLzxneN_8sk6yh6KhxQLnJ0vM6HFWh0_TdxVs2Itbczn9gvIluOsg1xNYSIqfC7P0P_OSxt8HgzJY9ZDr6ns2p0SgnVARikX69Uxbs_v_VGBJ_x2T1PhHzT1GwHUhMEc3rMfLfG1FB0iuIJeZbKQO_jk8GqVtczqrOjSZjhOXTbhFO3gDPvumV0yf_cxQC4KmY2uLHhqEBIS-Zp_eAu-PaLAd7F-aMW28J4F5QoWLenA3w06W5gHivFBlW7hVugNhUL9NDDLvNjkc4rm2Gez3qy_WoT8wUAlJU3H74nPTH4b9hmmeujplUWZjf961pxikYCVmFjipn_CejNHa0Mdpw0A537FgybvN_ylublv85fAU5bIo2vPbd6vjjyKSAu041ouifcL1R2bwfP9XPmVkH-zF_Pvh_04r8PbXR0VNSXNmPVo0lIl8g4ToGgqVT2VDFL093VDacU3rgI53eUgBz0K9mR1cTLek-hPh8k9pvZAQmgth4GvGw=w840-h530-no). It's the basic model I used for Tonny’s room. For more info look up [Scandinavian open prisons](https://www.google.com/search?q=scandinavian+open+prisons).
> 
> Also, if you haven't seen the trilogy, [meet everyone in this YouTube clip from the intro of Pusher II](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CyP2mt2mRCM) (all these characters are in my fic). Side note: Smeden is The Duke/Tonny's father.

Will slowly and anxiously approached the apartment door and stopped. His heart was sore and empty and he felt like he was being gutted over and over again with each of his raspy breaths. He stepped back and paced the hall one more time, drawing whatever shreds of courage he could muster. He inhaled, then paused, slowly releasing his breath in an attempt to hold back tears. He approached the door again, shaking as he raised his fist, ready to rap his knuckles upon it. His breath quickened, he stood up straight, and barely knocked on the door.

Loud voices erupted behind the door and he swallowed back his fear – pausing, waiting, listening. He counted the seconds in his head. 5… 10… 15. The door ripped open, and an angry blonde woman brusquely scanned him up and down, a burning cigarette in her hand.

 _"Hvad vil du have?"_ she snapped, wondering what the hell this disheveled man wanted with her.

“Ta-Taler du engelsk?” he asked in the hope that she spoke _any_ English, mostly for Aksel’s sake. Will choked back his own self-disgust. Why hadn’t he learned Danish? Why didn’t he teach Aksel? He was kicking himself for his own stubbornness when it came to learning the language. How could he have _ever_ criticized Tonny’s English? _Why, Will, why did you waste all that time when you could have been constructive and learned a useful skill for this exact situation?! How could you be so fucking stupid and not prepared your own son for this life? Why didn’t you see this coming? Why didn’t you FEEL this? Why wasn’t THIS a goddamn scenario you thought of? How could you let this happen?!_

“Ja,” she sneered. “Who are you?”

Will wasn’t sure he could speak, as his voice was caught somewhere between here and hell. “I’m, uh, I’m Will Graham. I, uh, helped take care of Aks…” he stuttered, looking down, _“Svend…”_ he corrected. He anxiously swallowed a sob and choked back the acrid bile creeping up his throat.

The woman incredulously stared at him, flogging him with her disgust and hatred. “You have a lot of nerve to come here,” she hissed, shaking her head.

Will humbly nodded in agreement. “I was just hoping I could, maybe, see him for a few minutes. I just need to… just see him. And I know you can be reasonable, Charlotte, because you want him to be happy. And I just want to see that too.” His voice was breathy and shook with every word.

She stood in the doorway staring at Will, assessing him, a grimace across her face. Suddenly, an older woman rushed up behind her, pushing her out of the way, and stepped into the hall, glaring at Will. “Who da fuck ah you?” she spit.

“Mor, this is the American – Tonny’s _faggot_ ,” scoffed Charlotte in her clearest English, her gaze burning holes through Will’s eyes.

A lump formed in Will’s throat and he felt his breath seize as his eyes fell to the floor. He reached up to hold his forehead, shamefully disgraced by her painfully dismissive and derogatory comment. He closed his eyes and bit his lip, choking back a sob, and attempted to maintain composure. “Please, Charlotte … just for a minute and then I’ll leave,” he begged. His chest was filled with a thousand daggers.

“Why would we let you see him? You are nothing to him. You steal my child and you want me to let you in?!” spit Charlotte bitterly. “Just let you come in here and try to take him again!”

“No, no, absolutely not,” insisted Will, shaking his head and defensively holding up his hands. “I love him, Charlotte, and I just want to see that he’s okay,” he whimpered.

“Why would he not be okay? He finally has his mother. A boy _needs_ his mother, not whatever the fuck you think you are.” She sucked on her cigarette, glaring at him.

“I’ve been with… Svend since he was a baby, Charlotte. We can talk. I can tell you about him. Just please. We can work together.”

“You are nothing to me and nothing to him. Not anymore. He will forget you soon and I will have my little boy back.” She waved her cigarette in front of Will’s face, motioning for him to leave. “Go back to sucking Tonny. You two are good together. Both useless fags nobody wants,” she sneered.

Will fidgeted with his hands, feeling his last shred of hope dissipating. “ _Please_ , Charlotte… just for a minute and then I’ll leave,” he begged. His hands trembled and his eyes pleaded with her, from one devastated parent to another.

Charlotte’s eyes softened with a tinge of understanding as he begged. Her mother, however, had no sympathy for the man who had so cruelly stolen her grandson from her family. “Get out of here!” she ordered. “If you come back, _I_ call police!” she screamed, gesturing wildly for Will to leave.

Will whimpered in pain and abject frustration, made worse by the fact that he could faintly hear, through the booming racket of the television in the apartment, the pitiful sounds of Aksel crying. The boy was sobbing alone, scared; and brick by brick, Will’s world was collapsing all around him.

* * *

Tonny heard a knock at his door and looked up with apathy and a sneer. _Just go away._ He rolled over in bed before a second knock grated across his nerves. He scoffed and rolled back over to reach for the handle, slowly pulling open the door. A tall, muscular man peered in at him, shocked by the state of Tonny’s disheveled room. A cigarette hung from his lip and he casually exhaled its smoke into the cell.

Oddly enough, Tonny still had an acquaintance here. He had met Gammel while in prison six years ago. The man had given him sound advice that he had taken to heart. Though the advice is basically why Tonny was back in prison he didn’t necessarily feel ill will towards the man. Gammel was still serving his sentence for the accidental murder of four men after a car explosion, and he was the closest thing Tonny had to a friend – and that was a _monumental_ stretch. “You coming out today?” the man scoffed.

“No,” snapped Tonny, staring at the wall.

“Why?” he asked. “You just going to sit in here feeling sorry for yourself? You know you have to work here. You can’t just lie around like a punk ass little shit.”

Gammel scoffed and walked away when Tonny refused to answer him. He shut his door and sat in silence, chewing on his dry, cracked lip. He was hungry – so excruciatingly hungry – but he didn’t have the strength to seek out anything more substantial than the random snacks he bought at the commissary with what few meager dollars Will had been able to send him. He hadn’t eaten decently in two or three days, and his resolve to live was waning. _Just kill me now._ He was miserable and depressed. _I can’t do this anymore._ Filled with an unwavering sense of defeat, his exhausted eyes darted around the tiny room, searching for _any_ answer to his plea – the sharp pen on the desk – the long cord on the lamp – the thin sheet on the bed – and he wept.


	4. The Pernicious Sin of Gluttony

“Tell me Anouk, how are you enjoying Dante’s _Inferno?”_ asked Hannibal, hovering over a cutting board at the kitchen island.

Anouk was leaning on the countertop, inspecting the man’s hands as they nimbly gripped a chef’s knife, delicately slicing the ingredients laid out in front of him. “It’s not pleasant, but certainly fascinating,” she smiled with a slight grimace.

Hannibal chuckled, amused by her assessment. “That is a very good way to describe it,” he said, continuing to thinly slice a shallot. “It’s one of my favorites pieces,” he declared. “I was pleasantly surprised to see you reading it.” He slid the shallots into a hot pan, basking in the sharp sizzle as they landed among the carrots, leeks, garlic, and thyme sprigs already sautéeing on the stove. He slowly stirred them, inspecting the softness of the carrots, and turned down the heat.

Anouk watched him move among the pots and pans, tasting, cleaning, stirring, and occasionally taking a moment to enjoy a sip of his wine. “You certainly do enjoy your time in the kitchen,” she noted. “I’ve never seen a man so delicate with a knife and I’ve certainly never seen a man as graceful,” she grinned, tracing the foot of her wine glass with her slender finger.

“It’s an art, Anouk. One I have a particular affinity for. Thankfully it’s a most useful skill,” he smiled.

“Have you always enjoyed it so much?” she asked, sipping her wine.

“I used to be a surgeon. After leaving the surgical field, I required a hobby that could properly entertain my fascination with dissection. The culinary arts seem to fill that need quite well,” he smiled. He slowly tipped the skillet of vegetables over a second pot of tripe and white navy beans gently simmering in broth. He turned up the heat until it was slowly bubbling away on the stove.

“Well _I_ am certainly enjoying your hobby. In the past, my duties in a household have almost always included some form of cooking, but here I am treated to it. It was a delightful surprise to say the least,” she confessed, still eyeing Hannibal as he cooked.

“Well, I appreciate your company,” he said, finishing his wine. “It’s a much more pleasant experience when dinner includes one’s friends,” he smiled.

Anouk noted Hannibal’s now-empty glass and stood. “Can I get you more wine?”

“Always,” he grinned. “Thank you.”

She rounded the island, lightly grazing her hand across Hannibal’s back as she passed on her way to the rack of wine by the bar. “Your preference?”

“The _Gevrey-Chambertin_ at the bottom. The _Taupenot-Merme_.”

Anouk inspected the bottle before showing Hannibal, who nodded his approval. She rinsed and dried their empty glasses while Hannibal uncorked the bottle. He savored the potent scent of black cherries as it erupted from the mouth before pouring them each a glass.

“Now,” he began, “what do you smell?” He handed her a glass full of the deep-crimson wine.

She sighed nervously. “I always feel under pressure when you do this,” she confessed, “like I’m going to say something wrong.”

“No answer is wrong. Just close your eyes and say the first thing it reminds you of.”

She swirled the wine in her glass and glanced up at Hannibal, feeling foolish as he watched her. His gaze was fixed on her mouth as she inspected the wine. She held it to her nose, closing her eyes and inhaled. “Grapes?” she giggled and Hannibal chuckled with amusement.

He swirled his own glass and held it to his face, inhaling the sweet, rich aroma. “Do you smell cherries?” he asked, eyes intensely watching her.

“I do now,” she said with another chuckle. “Strawberries?” she asked, and Hannibal smirked at her response, cocking his head. “Oh stop!” She bashfully covered her mouth. “This is embarrassing,” she confessed, blushing and averting her eyes from the man still acutely observing her. “I know I should know more about wines than I do.” She coyly smiled at Hannibal. “After all your lessons you’d think it would sink in.”

“You’re doing fine, and you weren’t wrong,” he admitted with a grin, returning his attention to his glass. He took a sip and inhaled the deep smokey robustness that rolled over his tongue. “Cherries and... strawberries,” he remarked, glancing at Anouk who gently bit her lip, “and blackberries.” He paused a moment, mulling over the taste in his mouth. “Fresh parsley and roses,” he noted. “And sweet Indian spices to finish.” He leaned on the counter towards Anouk.

She smiled at his charm and his alluring demeanor, and softly ran her hand down his cheek. She slowly leaned over to delicately kiss him on the lips.

“Shall we eat?” he whispered as Anouk pulled away to gaze longingly into his eyes.

“It smells delightful,” she smiled.

“It does,” he noted. “Almost as good as you.”  

She smiled and gathered their wine glasses to carry to the dining room. “Oh, will there be anything you will need from me tomorrow?” she asked. “I’ll be driving to Dijon in the afternoon.”

Hannibal thought briefly and smiled, “Actually yes, but nothing from Dijon. Prepare the second floor guest room,” he ordered. “And when you’re finished with it, leave your book by the bed.”

“Expecting company?” she wondered, becoming a tad excited at the prospect.

“An old friend, yes. And within the next few weeks, I’d guess.”


	5. That Love which Nature Makes

Tonny stepped into the brightly lit waiting area of the prison and saw Will sitting alone in a chair by the windows. Will appeared unkempt, exhausted, and was staring blankly at his hands. The overwhelming guilt was unbearable and Tonny paused momentarily, trying to decide if he should turn around and walk away or approach the man whose life he had destroyed. Will suddenly glanced up and saw Tonny warily standing by the doorway. A small smile barely crossed Will's lips as he slowly stood. Tonny approached him and they stared at one another, wrapped in a painful silence.

Will examined Tonny’s sullen face. He saw immense sadness and a torment he had never before witnessed on any man. “Tonny?” he asked gently, or perhaps simply said. Tonny, unable to respond, studied Will’s features, rebuilding the image of him in his mind piece by piece.

Will's breath was ragged. His eyes were sunken and his clothes were dirty and disheveled. Tonny sobbed within himself to physically look upon what he had done to Will. His funny, happy, and charming Will was gone and all that remained was a pale and anxiety-riddled facsimile. He looked into Will’s eyes, painfully unsure as to what he could say that would even remotely convey the heartache he felt for what he had caused them.

Finally, after what seemed like an infinite eternity, Tonny reached out and lightly touched Will's shoulder, grasping it slightly before hesitantly pulling him to his chest. Wrapping his arms around him, Tonny closed his eyes, hoping to be flooded with relief, but the man was cold and distant and gut-wrenchingly silent. Tonny timidly inhaled Will’s scent, feeling emotional flashes in his memory of the first time he laid in Will’s bed, sensing his presence so as not to be alone in his misery. That was almost 5 years ago, though he would often fall back into that memory when he needed to experience that comforting relief again. He begged to feel Will’s protection wash over him, but he felt no strength from this man. He recalled his old memories, trying to feel that warmth once more, but it had already been replaced by the new, tired, mourning version of the man he once held. He felt crushed by this unfortunate realization.

 _A hug,_ surmised Will, _a friendly gesture._ He barely had the fortitude to hug Tonny back, and by the time it was mustered, Tonny pulled away broken and grieving.

“Let’s go to the common room. We can sit,” sighed Tonny. Will nodded. He carefully lead Will to the prison’s common area which was attached to the inmate’s kitchen. The common room was painted a soothing and comforting blue and was furnished with several couches and chairs. Inmates and their families were gathered around – sharing photos, laughing, and embracing.

“What the hell is this?” asked Will, as Tonny led him to an empty couch.

“What?” Tonny wondered, sitting on the couch and lighting a cigarette.

“What the hell kind of prison is this?” scoffed Will, before he noticed a couple of people staring at him. He couldn’t discern if they were inmates or visitors. There were no guards to be seen.

Tonny chuckled at Will’s shock. “Probably the best kind,” he said. “You didn’t even look up what prison I was sent to?” he realized, feeling saddened and disappointed by this.

“Not really,” admitted Will, staring at the plethora of dangerous objects just sitting out in plain view. There was a gas stove, a kettle, a fucking _knife block?!_ He was growing anxious.

“Danish prisons are... not like American prisons,” explained Tonny, taking a drag. He stared longingly at Will’s unshaven face and watched the man’s eyes anxiously dart and scan the room.

“Well _fuck,_ Tonny, this place is nicer than my goddamn hotel room.” Will wasn’t exaggerating.  When a seated man playing on his phone snickered, Will realized he should probably watch his volume and his mouth.

“Shut up and sit down, Will,” ordered Tonny sullenly. So Will did, still in awe of all the inmates in their own clothes just walking around freely.

“What do you know about Aksel? Anything?” asked Tonny, reaching for an ashtray.

Will sighed and rubbed his face. “I tried. I really did. That fucking bitch is just so.... goddamn it! I just…” Rage was building within him and he was visibly sweating and becoming unsettled as he thought about his encounter with her outside her apartment. If he was intending to not make a spectacle here in the prison, he was failing miserably. He was so distraught about Aksel he was unable to imagine what this tragedy was like for Tonny. But he honestly didn’t care -- Aksel would always take priority to Will. Always.

“Calm down, Will,” ordered Tonny, his breath catching sightly at saying the man’s name out loud. He leaned towards him and attempted to maintain composure. “Charlotte just wants money,” he sighed. “I know that’s the only reason she even tried to get him back. Her mother probably convinced her to do it, too. I talked to your lawyer last week. He said she didn’t even file a goddamn police report for six fucking months,” he scoffed, puffing nervously on his cigarette. He leaned back on the couch, still feeling miserable.

Will shook his head in disbelief at Charlotte’s ineptitude as a mother before his face flooded with disappointment towards the boy’s father. “Tonny, why the hell didn’t you tell me about him? Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you just took him?!”

Tonny pressed his palms into his eyes, leaning forward. “Will, what do you want me to say, huh? I had many reasons to leave this country. This – what is happening right now – is why I didn’t tell you. How many people should know about your bad fucking decisions before it becomes dangerous? I just thought, after four years…” he sucked on his cigarette like his life depended on it.

They were suddenly interrupted by a loud deep voice. “You came out of your box, Tonny,” said the voice, and Tonny looked up to see Gammel walking towards him.

“I did,” he said, nervously looking down and exhaling a cloud of smoke around himself.

“What brought you out?” he asked, glancing over at Will suspiciously, before taking a seat across from them both.

“He tells me about my son,” said Tonny, nodding towards Will.

“Hell, Tonny. I didn’t know you had a kid. Congratulations,” he replied, lighting his own cigarette.

Will was no longer just despondent, he was now highly distressed. He had no idea how he was supposed to act around these other people. What could he say now? Should he not talk at all? He was still upset about Charlotte and needed answers from Tonny.

Tonny remained calm, though he had stopped talking, and he reclined back on the couch again. “Money,” he said to Will bruskly, returning to their conversation, still holding the cigarette between his lips. “That’s all she wants. Get that bitch cash and she will talk to you.”

Will glanced around the room suspiciously before returning his gaze to Tonny, “Ok, Tonny. I mean... I get that, but where do I get more money? I’m hemorrhaging cash as it is. I have completely drained my bank account at this point.”

Tonny scratched his head. “You have nothing left?” he asked in a slight panic, remorse filling him.

“Do _you_?” asked Will, antagonistically.

Tonny sat forward glancing at Gammel who was very obviously listening to them as though he had been part of the conversation from the beginning. “Do you have friends that could lend you the money?” he asked Will.

“Oh yeah, Tonny. Let me just call up the head of the BSU and see if he can lend me some bribe money so that I can break a couple Danish laws and see Aksel for a few minutes. Great idea,” Will scolded, rubbing his forehead in frustration.

“Are you fucking done?” asked Tonny, staring at Will with an exhausted look of disdain. He wasn’t even sure what he was _really_ asking.

Will fidgeted, biting his thumb nail, and nodded. “Yeah,” he said, calming himself. “Let’s just... can we not be criminals for – let’s say – an hour?” he sneered. “Can we do that? Can we just pretend that we aren’t here in this wildly expensive fucking city, in this weird as hell guard-less prison and you are _not_ freaking the fuck out?”

“Do I look like I’m freaking out?” asked Tonny soberly, but leaning aggressively towards Will.

“Yes. Yes you do,” said Will, leaning forward to match Tonny’s threatening posture, “I know that fucking look on your face. I have known you for five goddamn years and I’ve seen it before. You have an idea, Tonny, a _stupid_ fucking idea. All you have are stupid fucking ideas. You still have a choice, Tonny. If you make the wrong fucking choice, it’s all over.” Will felt himself getting uncharacteristically hot.

Tonny calmed himself and took a deep breath before responding, “The day before the police came. Do you remember what we talked about?” he asked, and Will slowly nodded. “This – this right here – is what I was talking about. I _know_ I’m fucking worthless, so shut the fuck up, Will. I’m not listening your shit right now,” snapped Tonny, reclining back on the couch again and returning to his cigarette.

Will closed his eyes and palmed his forehead, exasperated. A stinging headache was slowly forming behind his eyes. He had felt this sharp drilling pain before and an image of his own bloody hands flashed in his head.

“Just get Aksel back, Will,” ordered Tonny, glancing away to stare off into space as though completely finished discussing anything more.

“So what, I'm leaving now?” barked Will. “Yeah, okay. So I move halfway around the... you know what? Forget it. Don’t do anything, Tonny. Just stay here, nice and comfortable. Let me fix this hopelessly impossible problem for you with absolutely no help from you… like fucking always. Jesus fucking christ, Tonny,” scoffed Will, as he stood. He looked down at Tonny, expecting him to at least walk him out.

Tonny ignored him and didn't stand, so Will sighed and walked away. As soon as he was gone, Tonny lifted Will’s wallet from under his leg. He pulled out 3000 kroner and waved it in front of Gammel, who laughed scoffingly, shaking his head. Tonny pocketed the cash before standing up and jogging to catch up to Will.

“Will,” he called, trying not to yell, “Hey.” Will stopped and resentfully turned around. Tonny caught up to him and shoved his wallet in his hand. “I have to live with these people for a year, okay?” Will nodded, with basic understanding. “Don’t leave mad, Will. Don’t hate me. I can’t be in here knowing you hate me,” he said, his voice cracking. “I’m lost, Will. Please don’t hate me,” he pleaded.

“I don’t _hate_ you, Tonny,” sighed Will, pausing. He didn’t hate him, but did he feel _anything_ towards him? He gradually began reflecting on his own opinions of his life and his choices. His worry and absolute terror for Aksel was still muddling his mind, but he consciously attempted to pull his affection for Tonny out of his pit of despair and into the light. He wanted to share his feelings with Tonny while the man was still standing here with him – in this living moment – and not just a memory locked away. He stared into Tonny’s begging face and he mulled the words in his mouth. He wanted to give him reassurance – to let him know that he wasn’t alone. He wanted to tell him that he was still cared for and appreciated. But loved?

Tonny waited. He always waited. He hung there in limbo, his heart now awaiting its final sentence. He was hopeful that what Will was about to say would be enough to get him through his year-long battle against loneliness and self-loathing. He had his response prepared and waiting on the tip of his tongue.

“I _don’t_ hate you,” Will finally repeated, and Tonny shuddered and swallowed back his reply, looking at the floor in disbelief. His heart was crushed, and the last of his self worth destroyed. Optionless, he surrendered whatever dignity he had left. No longer wanted by anyone, he committed himself to his own utter destruction.

Will apologetically ran his hand down Tonny’s arm and wondered what was going to happen to them both. He was blissfully unaware of Tonny’s personal crisis, and that his actions, here in this moment, would have a dangerous and lasting effect on them both.

Tonny shook as he inhaled and composed himself, trying to fight his urge to break down right here on the floor at Will’s feet. He had never felt more abandoned, more alone, or more ostracized in his life. “I do have an idea about what you can do for Aksel and yourself,” he strained to even whisper. He’d been debating this idea for weeks, wondering if it wasn’t just the madness raging with him or if it was a logical idea. He knew Will, and he saw what this situation had done to him. Will, too, was broken and lost and needing money, help, consolation and warmth. Tonny knew he couldn’t give him the solace he needed in this dark and painful time but he knew someone who Will had always trusted and found comfort in.

“What's that?” Will sighed, once again despondent.

“You have to find Hannibal, Will,” he said, his voice quivering, and he’d never before felt more betrayed by his own tongue.


	6. The Boiling Pitch

_“Will?”_ asked Jack, surprised by the phone call. _“God, Will, how is everything going over there?”_

“It’s not good, Jack,” responded Will. He sat alone in his hotel room in the near darkness. He couldn’t face the light or the room.

 _“I’m so sorry, Will. I don’t know what to say. I’ve made a couple calls, but there isn’t anything we can do.”_ Will could hear his sincerity quiver with sadness.

Will inhaled a deep breath. “I appreciate that, Jack. It’s just a very complicated situation. More complicated than I even care to share,” he sighed, looking at the floor. “How is Bella?” he asked, wondering about the man’s ill wife.

 _“Not great, Will, but the treatments are having, I guess, some sort of effect. She is miserable, but hanging in there. Trying to keep her spirits high. She was actually just telling me how much she want’s to see Italy again before…”_ he paused as his voice caught in his throat, _“Umm, she thought we should fly out to see you, too.”_

“Oh, Jack, tell her I appreciate that, but you guys shouldn’t worry about me. You have enough to think about as it is.” His rubbed his eyes as his mind filled with new, heartbreaking gloom for his friend.

Jack huffed his acknowledgment and promptly changed the subject. _“So what’s the deal with Tonny’s trial? Is there a date set?”_

“It’s not until August. So we have...” He choked back a sob by clearing his throat... “Five months… to, uh, to wait for the sentencing.”

_“The sentencing? You mean the verdict, Will. You don’t really think Tonny killed his father, do you?”_

“No, no, of course not,” he lied, “I’m just not very hopeful of a fair outcome. Still, um, grieving, I guess,” he stuttered, rubbing his neck.

There was a long pause as the two men debated broaching the next topic.

 _“How’s Aksel? Will they let you see him?”_ asked Jack softly, being as delicate as he possibly could.

Will quietly sobbed away from the phone before taking a deep breath. “No,” he choked. “I can’t see him. I’ve tried. They just threaten me. I don’t know what to do, Jack. I think I’m out of options.”

 _“Will, is there anything we can do here? Anything I can do? Bella and I want to help,”_ he pleaded, hoping to do anything to feel of use.

Will thought and chewed on his thumbnail, wracking his mind for the words. “Jack, I need money. I have nothing.” He sighed as the words escaped his lips.

 _“Anything, Will,”_ declared Jack to Will’s relief. _“How much do you need?”_

“To keep our US lawyer we need another $2300 by the end of the week,” he said, clenching his eyes shut to hold back the tears fighting their way out.

 _“Of course, Will. I’ll wire it as soon as I can,”_ said Jack, his voice saddened and pained for his breaking and mournful friend. _“What else, Will? Anything? I feel so damned useless here and I know this is killing you. Hell, it’s killing us. We’ll do anything for Aksel, Will.”_

Will couldn’t restrain his tears any longer and he dropped the phone to hold his face in his hands, sobbing tears of relief and despair. This horror engulfed him in unimaginable and all-consuming pain. Torrents of stress and mental anguish flooded his body and with that deluge came nightmares, anxiety attacks, paranoia, hallucinations, and the ever-looming possibility of blackouts. He wasn’t sure what he actually feared the most. When he was able to continue, he picked up the phone and held it to his wet and shaking face before continuing, “I’m… I’m…”

 _“It’s ok, Will,”_ reassured Jack. “ _Are you taking care of yourself, though? You sound pretty rough,”_ he confessed.

“I, uh, I don’t know how to take care of myself, Jack. My family is gone and I have nothing,” he blurted, pain-stricken.

_“What brings you comfort, Will? Something to eat, drink, someplace to go? Maybe someone you can call?”_

Will paused, thinking about what Tonny had said to him at the prison. He needed to talk to Hannibal. As much as it saddened him to admit, he knew Hannibal would help him in whatever ways he needed, and this included lending him any amount of money he required. But more importantly, he found comfort in Hannibal and realized that, for his own sanity and mental stability he desperately needed to reunite with the man that had walked him through some of the darkest hours of his life. He paused in thought. How would he find him, though? Where was the man? He knew he was in France, but beyond that, it was a mystery. “Actually, Jack, there is something else you can do,” he said, his mind racing, searching, and devising potential ideas.

_“Name it, Will.”_

“Go to the farmhouse. On the counter in the kitchen are fifteen wine bottles. I need the names on the labels – the varieties – every winery.” Will was nodding his head in excitement at the possibility of seeing Hannibal. His heart was oddly racing in a rather disconcerting but still mildly comforting way.

Jack paused, concerned over this bizarre request. _“What? Why? Are you feeling ok, Will?”_

“I just need them, okay Jack? Just do this for me, please,” he pleaded, not wanting to divulge his bizarre plan lest he appear irrational and foolish.

Jack grew uneasy, but accepted the task. _“Ok, Will, but if you start feeling sick again, I want you to tell me, ok? Nightmares – blackouts – you have to tell me, Will,”_ he demanded.

“I will.”

_“I can go up to the farm tonight, ok?”_

Will sighed with relief, “That’s perfect Jack, thank you.”

 _“Eat something, Will. Drink something other than coffee. Take a shower and try to calm down,”_ said Jack, his voice hesitant with worry. _“I’ll wire the money first thing tomorrow.”_

“Thank you, Jack,” he sighed, and they said their good-byes.

Will set down his phone and opened his laptop. He stared at the screen with the last shred of hope his body had left and he bought a plane ticket to Paris.  


	7. It in Heaven is Willed

Will stood across the street from a small restaurant in Dijon, France. He rubbed his chin and stared at Hannibal, who was seated outside the restaurant sipping coffee and reading a book. Will couldn’t believe he had actually successfully tracked him down. Of course, it hadn’t been all _that_ difficult now that he thought about it. It was actually really easy. Suspiciously easy. Well, maybe not _that_ suspicious. The vineyards that had supplied the wine still sitting in his farm house practically triangulated the area around Hannibal’s chateau. What luck that Hannibal purchased Will’s gift so close to his home. The _Bâtard-Montrachet_ was an oddly specific choice, though. A little aggressively symbolic… but fuck, who cared? The man was _right_ there and Will was practically giddy to go talk to him. He briefly questioned his all-encompassing delight at seeing the man, but casually dismissed it. He was tired after all, and Hannibal was a familiar face in a foreign land. A _very_ familiar face.

Will focused on how much relief was coursing through him as he looked upon Hannibal, casually dressed, and relaxing in the late afternoon sun. It all felt like some picturesque scene from an overly-romantic novel set in France, by an author who had never actually been to France. He took a deep, calming breath and crossed the street. He approached Hannibal and immediately sat down across from him at his table.

Hannibal set down his book and casually looked up. “Hello, Will,” he smiled. He cocked his head and furrowed his brows at Will’s appearance.

“Hello, Hannibal,” he replied, shifting a tad nervously in his chair.

“How did you know I would be at _Loiseau des Ducs_?” he asked, still smiling. Hannibal patronized this restaurant several times a week and he wondered how long Will had been following him.

“Divine intervention,” teased Will. He smiled, though his eyes felt heavy and his tongue grew dry in his mouth.

“Actually, you called my chateau and Anouk told you,” chuckled Hannibal.

“That too,” he grinned, feeling tired and relieved.

“You look like hell, Will. No offense,” smiled Hannibal, sipping his coffee.

“Yeah, well, it’s been a pretty fucked up four months.” He eyed the cup as it reached Hannibal’s lips.

“It’s good to see you, though you no longer appear to be eating,” noted Hannibal as he set down his cup.

Will looked down at his wrinkled dirty clothes. They unceremoniously hung off his emaciated body. _How slovenly,_ he realized. He had survived the last four months on coffee and toast and it was obvious. “It’s a new diet fueled by insomnia and the unfortunate realization that I will die alone and filled with an infinite sadness,” he sarcastically joked. “May I?” he immediately asked, pointing at Hannibal’s coffee cup.

Hannibal snickered, “Of course, Will. What’s mine is also, apparently, yours.”

Will picked up the cup and downed the rest of Hannibal’s drink. He was suddenly feeling ravenous and thirsty. He leaned on the table and cradled his head in his hands as he closed his eyes, an unwavering exhaustion rolling through his body. He stayed in that position for entirely too long before he heard Hannibal’s voice.

“Will? Are you falling asleep?” the voice asked.

Will inhaled sharply and opened his eyes to stare at Hannibal. “What? No,” he scoffed. He tried to look around to wake up, but his eyes drooped and blinked as his head nodded forward. His body was suddenly, and without warning, relaxing within the comforting presence of his doctor.

“Will, why don’t I take you back to the chateau. I’m sure your journey was a long one and I am curious to find out what has brought you here,” he suggested. He furrowed his brows as Will was tipping into the table. He stood and helped his friend to his feet. Will could barely keep his eyes open but, with Hannibal’s help, managed to stumble his way to the man’s car and get in.

Hannibal drove in silence, allowing Will to fall asleep in the front seat, his head rocking with the motion of the vehicle. He occasionally glanced down at him as he drove, noticing how disheveled and sickly he looked. _This wouldn't do at all,_ thought Hannibal, and he began arranging in his mind a menu for the evening.


	8. They were Awake Now

Will awoke in a strange room and in a strange bed. He glanced around the bedroom, attempting to place himself to no avail. Was he still dreaming? Was he even… _alive?_ Even his thoughts were whispering to avoid detection. He had never woken up in a stranger’s bed, and he wondered just how long he’d been out. To his right was a towering cream-washed antique wardrobe that reached all the way up the ten-foot high ceiling. Next to the wardrobe, and through a large, rounded, open doorway, was what appeared to be a large bathroom. He could just barely make out the edge of a large tiled soaking tub in the corner. Past the foot of the bed, he looked out onto a shady balcony with a small manicured garden of potted plants and bountiful hanging baskets. The wall was made entirely of windows, with two glass doors in the center. The doors had been propped open and a cool gentle breeze wafted in and filled his lungs with an aromatic blend that reminded him of fresh apples and green wood. He relaxed into the breeze and felt his mind clear for the first time in months.

On the nightstand sat a fragrant bouquet of fresh orange roses, a glass of water, and his glasses – which he promptly put on. A book, he now noted, had also been left on the nightstand; he picked it up, inspecting the gilded letters down the spine – _The Divine Comedy_. Will briefly reflected on this particular title before furrowing his brows in suspicion and returning it to the stand. An insatiable thirst suddenly overtook him and he immediately gulped the water. He slowly stood to fetch more from the bathroom tap. The floor was unexpectedly cool on his feet and he suddenly and unnervingly realized he had been stripped of all his clothing, save his boxers and a tee-shirt. The shirt, however, was not his, and this both puzzled and disturbed him. After filling and refilling his glass several times in the bathroom sink he wandered back to the bed, still curious as to where this palatial bedroom was located.

A plush patterned chair in the corner apparently held his clothing – neatly folded and clean. He now grew rather fearful of how long he’d been asleep. He could only assume this opulence belonged to Hannibal and he vaguely remembered speaking to the man outside a restaurant, but that almost felt like a distant and surreal dream. He quickly dressed, enjoying the feel of clean clothes before peeking out onto the balcony. Beyond the stone wall, which was covered in a wide variety of potted plants, Will could see rolling wildflower-covered hills speckled pink and white with the opening blossoms of wild apple trees. Adjacent to those hills, he saw the edge of a vineyard. The rows of vines still appeared stubby and short, having been trimmed before the winter; however, each vine was now bursting with fresh green leaves, being resurrected by the warming Spring sun. He felt an odd serenity seeping into his body, causing him to feel a bit like he was stuck inside a rather peacefully composed painting.

He walked back into the bedroom and rubbed the last bit of drowsiness from his eyes. He decided to open the bedroom door and find out exactly where he was. The hall was just as well-adorned as his room, and slowly he wandered, his eyes darting between framed oil paintings, fresh flowers, and ornate French antiques. He eventually reached a staircase and descended it to a great foyer. He could hear soft piano music drifting through the house and he followed it a while before he stopped, noticing just beyond a doorway, Hannibal. The man was still in a casual white button-up, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and black slacks. Now, however, he was also wearing a long white chef’s apron. He was smiling and gracefully moving between boards and bowls and hot crockery freshly pulled from the oven.

Will watched him move around the space in what appeared to be an oddly blissful euphoria, as he prepared whatever meal he was planning. He noticed then that Hannibal was talking to someone and he was curious to find out who. Will slowly walked closer until he was just inside the doorway, where he saw a woman with dark hair that barely touched her shoulders. She wore a muted red dress that fell just above the knee and she was leaning on the counter inspecting a book as she spoke to Hannibal.

Suddenly, Hannibal noticed him and smiled. “Will, you are awake! Come, meet Anouk in the flesh,” he said. “Anouk, you spoke with Will Graham on the phone. He is an old friend,” beamed Hannibal.

“ _Bonjour_ , Monsieur Graham,” she said, approaching him.

“Uh, _bonjour_ ,” he chuckled as she kissed him on the cheek. “Nice to meet you… Anouk. I apologize if I seemed curt on the phone earlier. I was a bit... flustered.”

She smiled, “Stay in France long enough and you won’t consider your behavior to have been off-putting at all,” she chuckled, “Did you find your room comfortable?”

“Yes, thank you.” He was really wondering about his clothes now. _Who_ had stripped him and _why?_ But he decided now was not the time to find that out.

“Can I get you a drink?” asked Anouk. Will was quite taken by her beauty and gentleness.

“Just water, please. Thank you,” he said, and she nodded to him.

Will glanced around the kitchen, noting it’s comfortable though sumptuous design. “Is this where you’ve been hiding for the last three years?” he asked, and Hannibal nodded with a smile. “Certainly living a luxurious life.” Will was imagining his own bank account, which now displayed a negative balance. “It’s a beautiful _chateau_ ,” he teased with a bitter smile.

Hannibal grinned at his somewhat resentful tone. “You look like you could use some time in a place like this.”

Will inhaled a deep, relaxing sigh at the prospect of actually living in a place as lavish as this. Anouk gently placed a tall glass next to a bottle of Perrier on the counter in front of Will. Will stared at the glass and bottle. He was expecting a glass with plain, uncomplicated tap water – and now he had to _assemble_ his water. His _water_ had _parts_. He pushed the cynicism out of his mind and thanked Anouk with a weak smile and a nod.

“So, what are you making?” asked Will as he approached the counter to look into the pans on the stove.

 _“Blanquette de Veau,”_ replied Hannibal. “A white veal stew with sweetbreads and shavings of white truffle,” he explained, grinning at Will. “You are starving. This should warm you and fill you up. Your impromptu visit forced me to choose a less elaborate meal for this evening. I hope you don’t mind.”

Will glared at him, shaking his head at the man’s mockery. “I guess it’ll have to do,” he sighed, feigning disappointment. Will was taken aback by the lucidity of his mind. He had finally slept, and the rest must have cleared his head.

Hannibal chuckled at his belittling remarks. “Anouk will also be joining us if that’s all right.”

Will sipped his water and nodded to Hannibal, who was still focused on his cooking. In a blood-red enameled cast iron dish were chunks of cooked veal and pancreas scattered with softened, lightly caramelized pearl onions. Will inhaled the sweet earthy steam rising out of the dish and his mouth began watering. He had smelled this before – like fresh onion tops.

Hannibal was tossing mushrooms with lemon juice as he watched Will closing his eyes and tasting the food with his mind, remembering. “Would you mind stirring that, Will?” he asked, nodding towards a large saucepan on the stove. “Tell me when it begins to thicken.”

Will gradually walked around the island to the stove and peered into the pot, gently beginning to stir the sauce. He glanced up at Hannibal and sheepishly smiled. “What’s in this?”

“It’s just a roux with veal broth. When it’s thick, add these mushrooms,” said Hannibal, reaching behind Will to set the bowl on the counter next to him. He grazed Will’s back just slightly as he did so and Will slowly glanced at him with mild intrigue at the touch. His mind faintly wondered what he was doing here, and why Hannibal didn’t seem particularly surprised to see him. He had just woken up in a bizarre bedroom, and was now cooking with Hannibal in this strange French kitchen. He was beginning to seriously wonder if he was, in fact, still dreaming – or maybe hallucinating. Was he drugged? Perhaps his plane to Paris had crashed before it landed. It seemed possible – plausible, even – he _had_ purchased the cheapest ticket he could find. His eyes furrowed at the thought of his body burning in a fiery plane crash as Hannibal continued his instructions. “It will receive these mushrooms, and eventually be poured over the whole dish.” Hannibal paused, staring at Will’s grimacing face. “Stir, Will,” he reminded, cocking his head at the curious look on the man’s face.

Will snapped himself out of his fiery demise and back into the kitchen to continue stirring. He watched Hannibal delicately crack two eggs and begin whisking the bright yellow yolks with cream.

“How will I know it’s thick enough?” asked Will, looking incredulously into the pot.

“Does it offer a slight resistance to your hand? You will feel it. Slowly raise the whisk and notice the viscosity.” Will raised the whisk, looking at Hannibal as he inspected the pot. “Very good, Will, now add the mushrooms.” Hannibal was coyly grinning at him and it was making him more than a little self-conscious. He deliberately scooped the mushrooms into the pot, careful not to splatter the sauce, and gently stirred it once again.

“Pardon me, Will,” Hannibal said, and Will nervously stepped back from the pot. Hannibal poured the rich, creamy, mushroom-laden sauce over the veal and onions and returned to his bowl of eggs. He slowly ladled a scoop of the warm sauce into the eggs before rapidly whisking it all together. Will listened to the quick scratches of the whisk against the bowl as he stood behind Hannibal, studying his back and shoulders agitating as he stirred. He watched as the man gracefully raised the bowl and poured the velvety liquid back over the veal. He slowly increased the heat, stirring the contents as he peered in. Will could smell the warming pot. Delicate aromas of thyme and garlic floated tauntingly in front of him as a voracious hunger erupted in his growling belly.

Hannibal turned to him. Will and he both looked at Will’s stomach and Hannibal raised his eyebrows. “Um, I guess I’m hungry,” chuckled Will, flustered that his body would betray him so embarrassingly.

“Good,” replied Hannibal. He returned to his cutting board and began chopping a small bunch of parsley. Will walked around the counter, stopping in front of Hannibal as he examined his hands gripping the knife with grace and ease. In a simple and rapid motion, Hannibal scraped the parsley into a bowl and Will started at the sound.

“You certainly do need some time to relax, Will. You’re entirely too anxious,” grinned Hannibal. He scooped the veal stew into flat white bowls before topping each serving with the fresh parsley. He delicately grated black truffles over each bowl and wiped the rims with a towel.

The rest of Hannibal’s cooking ritual took only moments as he invited Will to join him in the dining room. He carried in two bowls, placing them at the two chairs adjacent to the head of the table before quickly returning from the kitchen with the third. The table had been set with wine glasses, silverware, ornate French napkins, and an elaborate centerpiece which sat in a low and long-footed silver bowl, consisting of fresh herbs, wildflowers and those distinctive orange roses he’d awoken to.

Anouk soon joined them and she and Will sat down. Hannibal uncorked the wine and poured Anouk a glass, then Will, and then himself. Smiling at Will, he invited his guests to eat. Will eyed the bright dining room suspiciously before resting his gaze on the creamy white stew in front of him.

“Eat, Will,” insisted Hannibal. And he was compelled to do so.

They silently ate, still listening to the soft piano music coming from… somewhere, before Hannibal spoke. “I do hope you received my Christmas gifts, Will,” he said, sipping his wine.

“Ah, yes, thank you. Aksel immediately insisted on making cookies. And yes, the wine. A lovely gesture. Thank you.” He was suddenly nervous and slowly chewing his veal. He felt very out of place here. It had been three years since he had seen Hannibal and yet the man acted like they had just spoken yesterday. Had he blacked out? Had that actually _been_ yesterday? What day was this? Was he within the throes of a nervous breakdown? Where was that damn music coming from?

“You’re very welcome. I’m hopeful that Aksel is growing well?” asked Hannibal.

Will winced and wiped his mouth on his napkin. “Um, yeah, that’s actually partially why I’m here – well, in Europe anyway,” he began, clearing his throat and attempting to stabilize his voice. He looked at Anouk, unsure if he should share his family's tragedy in front of her. “We’ve had some issues arise,” he said, setting his spoon down, suddenly unable to eat. He wasn’t sure why he was keeping up these formalities. He wanted to tip the table over and plead with Hannibal to come back to Denmark with him, somehow saving his family. He wanted Hannibal to tell him what to do, who to call, and where to go, though he didn’t know what good any of that would do or why the flying _fuck_ he cared so damn much about Hannibal’s opinions of anything. He stopped, and deliberately slowed his mind.

“Tonny…” he continued after a sigh, “was arrested on New Year’s and Aksel...” he had to stop as he choked on the name. The boy wasn’t dead. He was _not_ dead. He was alive. He was scared and alone, yes, but he was not gone. Will would not mourn him like a lost child. He was taken, but not gone. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves, “Aksel was put in his mother’s custody.” He picked up his wine glass and gulped.

Hannibal’s eyebrows raised as though shocked. “Will, I am so sorry to hear that.”

Anouk was looking at Will with a slight curiosity, unsure of who all of these people were. Will didn’t intend to divulge any information that wasn’t requested of him. _Good policy._

“May I ask who Tonny and Aksel are?” she asked, glancing at Hannibal and the Will.

His plan had not lasted as long as he had intended. “Aksel is my son, and Tonny is Aksel’s biological father,” stated Will. He had never said it like that before. It was actually quite nice. Succinct, even.

“I see,” said Anouk. “Is Tonny your lover?”

Will now regretted his confidence and paused. “He is… my farm hand,” he said, gulping more wine and glancing at Hannibal. “He has worked for me since his son, Aksel, was a baby.”

“Didn’t you just call the child _your_ son?” she asked.

Will tried to recall what he had just said in a panic. “I did say that, yes.” He took an unwanted bite of veal, giving him time to think.

Anouk smiled at his embarrassment before the realization of his words sunk in and her eyes softened with sadness. “So your son, he is not with you. I am so sorry. How tragic,” she frowned.

“Thank you,” he said nodding. “But I’m stuck now, unable to see my son and with his father in a Danish prison. So, I’m here, and I really don’t know why but seeing as I’m a former client, I thought perhaps we could resume our sessions, Hannibal,” he said, turning to the man.

“Happily, Will,” he smiled, continuing to eat. Hannibal's gaze snaked across Will's face, studying his sunken cheeks and probing into his dark, grief-stricken eyes, until it curiously settled on Will's slightly agape mouth.  
  
Will, noticing Hannibal's piercing eyes, glanced back down at his soup feeling rather unsettled by this penetrative examination of his face. As an awkward and nervous uncertainty filled him, he became acutely aware of a certain _je ne sais quoi_.


	9. A Death by Violence

“Can we talk?” Tonny asked Gammel out in the yard. Gammel nodded, sighing, and stood up from the bench, following Tonny to the exterior wall of the prison.

“I need something – _anything_ ,” whispered Tonny, anxiously looking around.

Gammel scoffed at his vague request. “You want to be more specific?” He took a drag off his cigarette and blew the smoke in Tonny's face.

“I have 3000 kroner. Get me anything for that,” said Tonny, scratching his neck.

“You want to be more specific?” he harshly repeated, and Tonny rubbed his face.

“Can you get shit or not?” he asked, getting frustrated.

“You know they still do random checks,” said Gammel. “You have eight fucking months Tonny, that’s it. Not worth it.” 

Tonny shook his head. “I have a trial in August because I took  _ your _ advice, Gammel. I’m not getting out of here,” he admitted, “Not for a long fucking time.” He rubbed his eyes and looked around. “What do you want for it then?”

“Hey, I gave you  _ sound _ advice.  _ You _ fucked it up. That’s on you, not me. And I’m  _ telling _ you right now, you are making a stupid fucking decision. But whatever. I’ll happily take your money, you stupid fuck -- And you want  _ anything? _ Fine,” snapped Gammel, flicking his butt in the grass. He shook his head and walked away.

Tonny slid down the wall and sat on the ground, relieved to finally have a source for an escape. Will had made it brutally clear that this was it – he was done, and now Tonny would be done too. His relief, however, was short lived.

“Tonny, Tonny, Tonny,” said a strange voice above him. He didn’t want to look up. _ What the hell now? _ “Heard you’ve had an interesting couple of years,” the man said. Tonny’s heart stopped. “You’re an interesting little shit-for-brains. Because you’re an absolute nobody with the worst fucking luck.”

Tonny slowly looked up at the man towering over him. He didn’t recognise him, but that didn’t mean much. 

“You seen Frank?” the man asked, smiling down at him.

“He bashed my fucking head in. I hate that piece of shit. I haven’t seen Frank in five years,” he barked in reply.

“Now, Tonny… at least one of those things is a lie, and you know it,” he replied, “but which one?” Tonny tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “I’m pretty sure I can see that huge fucking scar, so the crack he took to your head is true. So, do you secretly  _ love _ that little fucking faggot or have you seen him in that last five years? Now, I don’t give a rat’s ass whose cock you suck, but no one can find that little fucker and people are kinda pissed about that. Folks are becoming quite concerned with locating him.”

“I had nothing to do with his deal, or  _ anything _ since I left Denmark,” declared Tonny. He voice shook as he grew more nervous.

“Yeah, well, I guess that’s not really anyone’s biggest beef with you right now, is it?” the man chuckled.

Tonny looked at him, confused. “I haven’t even been in Denmark for fucking years. What the hell would people want with me?” No one had ever been after Tonny. He didn’t do jack shit. He was a petty thug and a shitty one at that. He was mainly a warm body that could hold a gun or look intimidating. Tonny knew this – he always had. No one could even trust him to handle the responsibility of  _ being _ a goddamn dealer. Now, it’s true, he’d owed his father a shit load of money when he’d killed him, but that was his fuckhead friend Kurt’s problem, not his.

“Oh fuck, Tonny, come on,” the man laughed. Tonny shook his head without a clue as to who would be after him.

“You don’t think a lot of shit goes down when you kill someone like the fucking Duke? And  _ then _ to get away with it for so long? And your buddy Frank screwed with a lot more people after you took off. You know that? With you guys being so fucking  _ close,  _ it seems likely you know where he is.” The man took a long drag off his cigarette. “So you can help me out. Tell me where Frank is or … not. Your choice. But a dead Tonny means this whole mess sticks around,” he grinned. Tonny’s heart was racing. He started to stand, but was violently pushed back down to the ground with a heavy thud. “Oh, no, no, no. You stay down there. I just came by to let you know that Milo says  _ hello _ .” And with a sudden and vicious kick to the teeth, Tonny was out cold.


	10. Unbroken Words

“Will?” asked Tonny excitedly, answering his cell phone on the first ring. It was 9:35 pm, and he was grateful to have a voice to talk to as he settled into his cell for the evening. For all the inmates, this was a time to receive and enjoy calls from loved ones. Though simple and rudimentary, the phone provided by the prison afforded Tonny his one and only line to the outside world.

Tonny patiently waited for anything – any voice, any sound – on the other end. He stroked his swollen eyebrow, apprehensively waiting. He ran his finger down his broken nose and waited.

 _“Hi, Tonny,”_ sighed Will. There was another long silence as they both gathered their thoughts.

“How… how are you, Will?” he asked. “I mean, I… fuck, I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.” Tonny fought with his words and his clouding mind. He racked his brain trying to figure out where everything derailed. He perpetually teetered between absolute denial and utter despair at what had happened between them.

“I’m fine, Tonny.” Will was sitting on the balcony of his bedroom at Hannibal’s chateau. How does he tell him that? How _can_ he tell him that? “I, um, did you what you suggested,” he stammered, still trying to think of a way to mention Hannibal.

_“You called Jack?”_

“Uh, well, yeah, I did that too. But I also found... Hannibal,” he blurted. It was finally out there. “I’m actually staying at his home for awhile, while I pour over your defense. He’s actually a lot more helpful when it comes to European legal precedent than I would have expected.”

The long silence had Will almost wondering if the connection had been lost. _“Oh,”_ he finally replied. _“You guys aren’t doing, like... sessions, are you?”_

 _What an odd thing to ask,_ thought Will. _What did it matter? Oh, jesus..._ “He’s _not_ manipulating me, Tonny. Just stop! For god’s sake... stop this! I can’t do this again. I fucking won’t have this conversation one more time,” he snapped, holding his forehead.

 _“Ok, I’ll stop. Forever, Will. I’ll never bring it up again. I swear to god,”_ Tonny pleaded, regretting so much of everything.

Will could hear his desperation and it deeply saddened him. “Tonny, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap, I’m just… we’re just both anxious, ok?” Will had never craved a cigarette more in his life. As he recognized his nicotine craving he heard Tonny suck on a smoke and exhale into the phone. The sound was almost comforting. Almost. Then he remembered his wallet. “Tonny, did you take $400 from my wallet before you gave it back to me?”

Tonny paused. _“Yeah,”_ he admitted. Will could hear him cringing.

“Why? Why would you do that when I’d _just_ told you I have no money?” grumbled Will as he shook his head in total frustration. “If you get... no.” He stopped himself from threatening him. “Are you using again? And just be fucking honest, ok?” he asked, attempting to stay calm.

“Um, yeah,” admitted Tonny. He hadn’t actually used anything yet but he wanted to be the one to tell Will. He didn’t want Will to think he was a liar and at this point he wasn’t afraid of disappointing him any more. Will had no idea what it was like to be trapped somewhere, scared and alone. He had no idea what it was like to have no control over where he was or what happened to him. He didn’t know what it was like to be surrounded by darkness and despair, unsure when he’d be released from their clutches. Remembering back to a time when Will’s life was nearly destroyed by blackouts and nightmares, he became ashamed of his own selfish thoughts. Will did kind of understand, but _no… not really._ His justification was, once again, blinding him to reality. _Twenty-six months sober wasn’t a bad run though,_ he thought. And besides, none of that mattered now.

Will sighed, disappointed in Tonny’s choice to hide within the familiarity of his self-destructive addiction. “Why?” he questioned, his tone angry and accusatory, though he wasn’t honestly sure if he cared about the _why_ anymore. He didn’t want answers. He wanted to hang up and throw the phone over the balcony in frustration. _Why are you such a stupid fucking coward_ , he thought in his head. _Why does he do this to himself?_

 _“I can’t do this anymore, Will,”_ confessed Tonny, tired of arguing and explaining himself. He was done.

“You remember, Aksel, don’t you?” Will closed his eyes, shaking his head at the man’s selfish and poor decisions. “He’ll want to visit you. Do you want him to see you like that?”

“He doesn’t want me. He doesn’t need me. No one needs me, Will. This shit is pointless.” Tonny slid back on his bed to lean against the cold wall. “It would be easier for everyone if you just stopped. I don’t want anything else from you. I’m sorry I ruined your life. Please don’t hate me forever, ok?” He put out his cigarette in his ashtray and stared at nothing. His right eye had been swollen shut for days. He was drained and tired and in pain. With every breath, his sore, aching rib twinged with a sharp stab to his abdomen. His skin was black and green with bruises. He was miserable and beyond alone.

“I’m going to go,” decided Will after a long pause. He wouldn’t play into Tonny’s selfish pity party any longer. “Good night, Tonny,” he said, waiting briefly for a response.

Tonny hesitated before responding. _“Goodbye, Will,”_ he whispered.

Will hung up and stared at his phone, the silence of the world now deafening as his blood pulsed and throbbed in his ears. He closed his eyes and hung his head, wondering how much farther into the darkness his mind could fall before it was consumed by the endless desolation that had followed him his entire life.


	11. He Turns to the Water

Hannibal looked down at Will, who was sprawled out on his stomach across the bed. Will had spent the last three days in the same tee-shirt and jeans and in the same spot on his bed, tangled and twisted among the sweat-dampened sheets. A vast bleakness surrounded the man. It engulfed him. Will was floating within a deep abyss out of which he refused to pull himself. The man was lost at sea. 

Will felt utterly broken. He had never in his life felt this hopelessly adrift. Aksel was torn from him and suffering. Tonny had given up all hope of ever being released from prison. Will had lost, literally, everything in his life, and his heart was in a thousand pieces and scattered to the wind. He had lived his entire life  _ not _ warming up to people –  _ not _ building these useless and uncomfortable relationships – to protect himself from the horrors of heartbreak, and yet here he was. His flawless plan to remain closed off and guarded wasn’t quite  _ flawless _ if he ignored every rule he’d ever set. He berated and chastised himself. His mind flooded with possible outcomes to this entire situation, and each vivid idea brought with it adrenaline bursts, cortisol rushes, a racing heart, sporadic breaths, and lamenting sobs at the painful realizations about his future. Everything he cared about was gone. 

Hannibal tenderly picked up Will’s wrist and felt for his pulse. He watched as Will’s back rose and fell with stuttering, tearless sobs before gently placing his hand back on the bed. He carefully deliberated before slowly unbuttoning his white shirt, still staring down at the man. 

Will noticed this unusual behavior and jerkily glanced up at him. He eyed him inquisitively, watching him walk to the other side of the bed and sit. Hannibal casually pulled open his shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders and laying it across a chair in the corner. He returned to the bed to sit, leaning his back against the headboard with a sigh. With one leg on the bed and one foot on the floor, he patted between his knees. “Come, Will. Lean your back to me,” he said calmly.

Will furrowed his brows and craned his neck to look at him. “Why?” he croaked, skeptical of the man’s seemingly bizarre intentions.

“Because your pulse is irregular and your respiration is erratic,” stated Hannibal, casually fixing the twisted sheets on the bed. 

Will, his heart racing and his head dizzy with grief, hesitantly stood and stumbled around the footboard to where Hannibal sat. He pulled his sweat-soaked shirt over his head and carefully lowered himself to the bed, reclining his back towards Hannibal’s bare chest. He anxiously inhaled and tried to relax as his back collided with warm soft skin. Hannibal gently wrapped his right arm around the man’s body, resting his hand over Will’s heart, and drew deep, heavy relaxing breaths. Will felt himself rising and falling with each breath, his body engulfed in a reassuring heat. His grief welled up inside him again, but as it began to numb his senses, the warmth of Hannibal’s body against his gradually melted it from his mind, making him heavy and listless. 

“Why do you punish yourself, Will?” muttered Hannibal as he slowly traced the back of his fingers across Will’s forehead. He took another deep, calming breath, returning his palm to the man’s heart.

Will was overwhelmed with a desire to simply wither back against Hannibal and die. There was nothing more he could do. “I’m out of options and my family is in ruins,” he whimpered, as his eyes slowly shut.

Hannibal lightly grazed his left hand up the cool flesh of Will’s side. “Does that mean you must suffer the same fate?” he wondered, his fingertips massaging the smooth skin. “I don’t see how your self destruction is good for anyone.” He pressed his hand firmly against Will’s heart and drew in another achingly deep breath.

Will’s sigh stuttered at Hannibal’s unwavering touch. “I just… I don’t see light anymore. So why bother to grow? Why-why survive at all?” He slowed his breath, his body still rising and falling against the man’s chest. He reclined further into the man, gradually lowering his head back onto Hannibal’s shoulder, feeling a warm tranquility envelop him. 

Hannibal carefully studied the skin of Will’s neck, inhaling this new scent – one of skin, salt, and soft, sweet musk. Not at all like his cheap spicy aftershave. Though tinged with fear and anxiety, this was the man’s true intoxicating aroma. Hannibal turned his head and delicately grazed Will’s face with his cheek. The man was cool, certainly not feverish. Hannibal remained still, monitoring his respiration and pulse. The two quietly breathed in unison while Will’s heart rate slowly stabilized, his body complying with Hannibal’s wishes. 

Feeling less nauseated and no longer dizzy, Will began to contemplate just how ruined everything had become. “I think Tonny is done with me,” he suddenly heard himself say, his heart sputtering in agony yet again.

Hannibal remained silent, his fingertips gently stroking the skin over Will’s heart at they breathed. “Why do you say that?” he finally asked, with a barely perceptible irritation hovering in his voice.

“He’s been cryptic – before the arrest... at the prison... on the phone. His behavior is not that of someone who’s even remotely okay with me. I think he believes he’s wronged me in an unforgivable way, and he feels unworthy of me,” panted Will, his breath becoming ragged as he thought of Tonny. He was still lying back on Hannibal’s shoulder, his face now slightly turned towards the man’s jaw, breathing in the heat that was steadily building between them.

“Do you think that’s true?” sighed Hannibal, as he rested his head against Will’s slightly damp forehead, closing his eyes.

“That he  _ feels _ unworthy of me or that he  _ is _ unworthy of me?” Will asked, his voice thick but soft. His pulse remained somewhat erratic as Hannibal continued to lightly stroke his skin. Will paused, awaiting clarification, and took the opportunity to fill his lungs with Hannibal’s familiarly comforting and distinctly earthy aroma. 

“Isn’t the answer the same?” Hannibal finally answered, his voice faintly resonating against Will’s skin.

Will panted with slight exasperation. “He thinks I’m some untouchable god –  _ me _ – some sort of muse of the arts and literature because I speak in complete sentences,” he scoffed. “He acts like I’m somehow lowering myself to be with him.” Will sneered at the embarrassing thought and rolled his head away from Hannibal’s nuzzling face. “I think that’s why he’s still using,” he dolefully sighed. “He’s either trying to elevate himself to some euphoric state to try and charm me, or simply trying to forget what  _ he _ feels is his predetermined position in life. The latter is where he is now.”

Hannibal tightly wrapped his other arm around Will and slowly brought his mouth to Will’s neck, carefully skimming the man’s skin with his lips as he spoke, “Is that not the case, Will? Did you not lower yourself to be with him?” Hannibal lifted his head to look at the side of Will’s turned face. “He would certainly not be  _ my _ first choice for you,” he admitted, still lightly grazing Will’s naked chest with his fingertips. Their bodies were warming and dampening with sweat as they continued calmly breathing together.

Will gradually rolled his face back to Hannibal’s, his nose grazing the man’s jaw and his breath hot on his neck. “I’m not lowering myself…” he said softly. “I’m not some  _ precious gift _ to whoever I’m with,” he bitterly scoffed, now raising his head off Hannibal’s shoulder. “I’m just a goddamn man – a confused and tormented man at that. Why would he think of me as a god?” he shrugged. Will closed his eyes in thought and imagined himself through Tonny’s point-of-view. “Maybe because I’m intelligent… and have a formal education? And I drink...  _ wine?” _ He gently shook his head in disbelief and opened his weary eyes. “What a ridiculous set of criteria for divinity.” He exhaled a stuttering pant as he noticed his forehead beading with sweat. It trickled town his temple and cheek as he stared down at Hannibal’s arms wrapped around him. “I live on a filthy farm with forty dogs and I pick up men at homeless shelters,” he sneered with a contemptuous snicker, hearing how ridiculous it sounded. He relaxed again, returning his head to Hannibal’s shoulder. He blankly stared at the ceiling, consumed with self-criticism.

Hannibal softly chuckled, glancing down the chest of the man in front of him. His hands continued wandering across Will’s flesh, lightly fondling his skin as he groped. “Could he have been using you to raise his son?” he sighed against Will’s ear. “Now that his secrets have been revealed, he no longer feels compelled to stay with you.” Hannibal ran his nose up the side of Will’s face, brushing his lips along his temple.

Will swallowed, exhaling a sigh at the sensation of Hannibal’s nose trailing along his skin and the man’s breath rushing along the side of his face. His pulse quickened but remained steady. He tensed, pushing back into Hannibal’s chest. “Um, no. No, it’s not like that, either. He… He hates Charlotte.  _ I _ hate Charlotte,” he admitted, before becoming unsettled again. He felt Hannibal tighten his hold, pulling him even harder into his body in an attempt to stifle Will’s growing aggravation. “She’s-she’s going to  _ hurt _ Aksel,” he stuttered lifting his head once more. “He has a price tag to her. He is  _ priceless _ to me. I love him so much, Hannibal. I have to fight for him,” he choked, his neck uncontrollably twitching as rage and agony reestablished their hold upon him. He suddenly found himself stifling sobs, methodically rubbing his forehead. His heart fluttered and raced again. “He is not just a  _ name _ to be traded around. He’s not a  _ tool _ to manipulate people…” His voice was dark but sharp and cracked with pain. “He’s not a toy to play with and then discard. He is a  _ living, breathing _ child who is loved by so many people – people who would gladly die just to see him fucking smile.” He took a deep, staggered breath, choking back a guttural cry. “He is worth so much more than what this world is giving him, and it’s beyond fucking tragic that this could be allowed to happen!” His body shook as he cradled his grimacing face in his hands. 

He wanted to continue, but he felt himself begin to weep. Tears fell from his face, dripping and blending with sweat as they pooled and trickled down Hannibal’s arms across his chest. He lifted his face from his hands, becoming irate with grief as his dizziness slowly returned. “I’m _right_ here!” he emphasized through tears. “ _Right here,_ and I love him and I want the best for him,” he cried. “I will give him everything and more... He will _never_ feel alone! _Never,_ goddamnit! He will be respected and loved, and he will want for _nothing_. I’m _right fucking here!_ Honored and willing to raise him... and I’m not even allowed to see him...” He uncontrollably sobbed into his hands, wailing with an unfathomable heartbreak. Hannibal securely wrapped his body around the shaking ruined man.

Hannibal’s eyes grew distressed, and he cradled Will, watching him weep for what he deserved but couldn’t have. “I’m so sorry, Will,” he sighed, stroking the back of Will’s head as the devastated man grieved in his arms. “I really am,” he lied, pulling him closer to his body.


	12. Now Help, Death, Help!

He inhales and exhales a hesitant huff, anxiously eager, chewing his lips.

There is no thought in his mind but this. The darkness may still loom above him, but it will find no purchase in his mind. There is no worry, no care, no fear in this room. Nothing matters but this specific moment. Just the pinch. This pinch. This last – this _final_ pinch.

Breath still staggers from his cracked lips. He stops. No, he _waits._ Pull back slowly. _Slower, fuck._ The wisp of blood curls and spins and he watches, enamored. _I got it._

Slow it down. Make this last. It has to last.  
  
_It is the last._

Push. Gently. _No, wait._ _No. Pull_ ... he hesitates and the blood swirls back. He admires the red – a soft, muted red. It never held life, and now it twists and spins, and dissolves away – like him.

 _It’s over._   _Do it now._ Press.  
  
The rush. This is the rush.

It flows up his arm – tingling nerves, creeping, crawling, spreading like fire on his skin. And then it hits. It hits like a punch. Like a detonation in his mind that bursts through his flesh. And then – then his heart – it falters and stutters as it shares this rush with his body, in throbbing and bloody pulses. It explodes in him and fills his being – a bomb of pure and absolute surrender. And then it’s all gone – the pain in his bones, the guilt in his mind, the shame of his life – like it never was. Like it never led him here. Everything is unsettlingly blissful and grotesquely beautiful, but stifled with the heat of uncertainty, as it should be.

 _This is everything._ He knows.

 _This is my love._ He wishes.

It is a transcendental joy – to be alive, in this broken and bloody body, to be here in time and space. This particular time. In this particular space. Briefly this is all there is. Only the now – only the vague but euphoric awareness – this is all that matters. _Please don't fucking end,_ he begs. _I'll stop if it just doesn't fucking end._

He falls back to the bed – fulfilled, content, yet empty. But the bed is soft now and the walls don’t close in upon him.

_This is all there is. The is all there was. I felt nothing before, but I feel it now. This is me._

But the darkness looms and it needs no footing. It dives and fights and punishes its morbidly obsessive spawn. It cheats and plunders. It bites and claws. It fights to win.

 _Please don’t leave me, not again._ He yearns for the touch of another.

 _Please. Please. I'm sick._ He begs alms to survive.

 _I'll let it go. I'm stupid and worthless. Please let me stay._ He prays forgiveness for his nature.

 _This isn't fair. I didn't want to die alone._ But his pleas would go unanswered.


	13. Journey Fate-Ordained

“Your heart, Will,” noted Hannibal, feeling Will’s pulse again as he laid in bed.

“I’m not getting up,” declared Will, rolling over.

“Will, you haven’t gotten out of bed in days.”

“Leave me alone, Hannibal,” he said gruffly.

“Will, if you make me haul you to the shower, I’ll do it. You're quite weak, and I can assure you, it won’t be a pleasant experience,” scoffed Hannibal, attempting but failing to hide his disgust.

Will turned to face him and glared. “I’m still spry, Hannibal, despite my lack of appetite. Don’t touch me.” He hurled his head back to his pillow and grew still.

“Do I seem the type to joke, Will?” asked Hannibal. “What have you gathered from previous conversations that would lead you to believe I wouldn’t literally drag you out of this bed?”

Will ignored him, so Hannibal quickly turned and stormed to the bathroom. Will listened intently and heard the shower turn on, the spray drowning out all other sounds. Before he could react, Hannibal pulled back his blankets and violently yanked his arms behind his back, forcefully restraining him against the bed.

“Okay, okay!” shrieked Will, but Hannibal maintained his firm grip. “What the hell, Hannibal? I get it!” he snapped, his voice muffled by his pillow. Hannibal released his arms and straightened his own shirt as Will rolled over to look at him. “Was that really necessary?” he barked, “And I seem to remember you getting pretty pissed when Tonny manhandled me over a fucking shower,” he lectured.

Hannibal glared at him, ignoring his mention of Tonny. “You must stop sulking, Will. It doesn’t suit you,” he insisted, looking rather annoyed. “You need to take care of yourself, and that includes bathing and eating. You are living here in my home, Will. Don’t disrespect my hospitality.”

The intensity of Hannibal’s words had Will feeling scolded like a misbehaving child. He scoffed at the implication that he was being disrespectful by mourning. “I get it, ok?” he sneered, and he got out of bed of his own volition and walked to the bathroom. Hannibal remained standing by the bed until he heard the shower door close. He took a deep breath to calm himself. Putting up with Will’s constant unappreciative and apathetic attitude towards his hospitality was beginning to wear on him, but at least there was some progress being made.

Hannibal slowly entered the bathroom and leaned against the sink. “I’m going to the market this morning, Will, if you care to join me. I think the fresh air would do you some good,” he suggested, staring at Will’s contorted form through the bubbled glass of the shower door.

“I can’t. I’m waiting on a call from Tonny’s lawyer,” explained Will, raising his voice over the sound of the water.

“Didn’t Tonny explicitly ask you to _stop_ attempting to help him?” reminded Hannibal.

“Well, yeah... but I mean, I'm not going to _completely_  stop... I just talked to Greg about submitting the forms for his early release. I guess that would be... around September if it's accepted. I highly doubt Tonny will argue with extending his probation to get out of prison four months early, Hannibal." Will rolled his eyes. "Greg's supposed to call me back and tell me what we have to do. Of course, if they find drugs or he tests positive or anything, it’s off the table. But, I mean, it’s worth a shot,” he rambled.

“You’re assuming he won’t be found guilty of murdering his father in _August,”_ reminded Hannibal, again.

Will sighed with annoyance. “Yes, that’s what I’m assuming, Hannibal.”

“Will, why are you doing this?”

He groaned at Hannibal’s incessant dismissal of his desires to help Tonny. “I’ve lived four years with him, Hannibal. I’ve raised his son. We have problems that we may never recover from, but I still don’t want to see him in prison. What kind of monster would I be? Even if our relationship is... ending... I’ll always care about him – in one way or another."

"Then why don't you ever call him?"

"He doesn't want to talk to me. He said he wants... nothing from me. I'm just trying to respect that," he sighed. "And I-I can't really blame him... All I end up doing is yelling at him. And he's-he's using again. He admitted it," he scoffed. "I mean, I _know_ this is hard for him. I'm not heartless. But... but maybe he _needs_ this. Maybe he needs to see how his actions have consequences. He's so goddamn impulsive, he doesn't understand that what he does effects  _everyone_. He just thinks he can do whatever he wants." Will rubbed his dripping face and stared at the shower floor. "Its not like he hasn't been to prison before. He knows what's expected of him. He knows how to handle it," he nodded. "And he knows I'm stuck wrangling the damn lawyers and handling all the shit with Aksel, so... it's not like I'm abandoning him either," he nervously sighed as worry enveloped him again. "But I think the real question is why don’t _you_ want him out of prison, Hannibal. He’s your fucking _son,_ for god's sake.”

Hannibal crossed his arms. “He’s a burden on society, Will. He offers no positive influence to his son or even you. People like him are better suited in facilities that can manage their destructive behavior. He should be kept separate from civilized society until he can be properly rehabilitated and reeducated. And besides, there are many opportunities in Danish prisons. They offer some of the best recovery programs in Europe. It’s a shame Tonny isn’t taking this opportunity to better himself.”

Will grumbled to himself. Hannibal always found a way to make him look crazy and irrational when it came to Tonny. He turned off the shower and wiped his hands over his face. He could still see Hannibal’s shape by the sink. “Hey! Can I get a towel... or did you want to _cuddle_ again?" he mocked. "I’m already _naked_ if you’d prefer me that way,” he sneered. He heard Hannibal chuckle under his breath as a towel was draped over the shower door.

Will dried himself and wrapped the towel around his waist. He no longer saw Hannibal in the bathroom, so he opened the door and stepped out, immediately noting his appearance in the mirror. It must have been days – or maybe even weeks – since he bothered to look at himself. His face looked so pale and gaunt. His eyes were puffy and his beard was ragged. He rubbed his face and looked into his own eyes. They were distant and unsettling even to him. He immediately thought of how Aksel would see him – a stranger now. It had been three months since he had gotten to contact his son, and that painful ache hurt just as much now as it did the first night they were apart.

He rubbed his forehead, trying to banish the hostility that endlessly crept into his mind. He decided that it might be a fair idea for him to go into town with Hannibal. It had been weeks since he’d even left the house, and today the walls did seem a tad closer.

* * *

“Do you smell it, Will?” smiled Hannibal as they approach the small French market. He was inhaling the sweet spring aromas that drifted through the air.

“Smell what?” Will was trying to figure out why Hannibal appeared to be smelling nothing in particular.

“The spring,“ he clarified. “The aroma of all that is bursting with life.” He grinned at him.

Will’s eyes narrowed. “I guess.” He wasn’t really in the mood to wax poetically about the smell of the season. He continued to stare suspiciously at the man as Hannibal donned a camel-colored leather jacket over his burgundy bespoke dress shirt. Will suddenly noted how uncomfortably chilly it was for France in May, and also how much he looked like a vagrant compared to Hannibal. He put on his own tattered green coat, hoping to take the edge off the brisk chill in the air and also to hide his threadbare clothing. He cautiously followed Hannibal down the cobblestone street.

They glanced around at the stalls bursting with the early spring bounty. All shades of green erupted from them, filling the air with a fresh herbal scent. Will fell behind as he became intrigued by a stall filled with rows of small pots, each holding a tender young seedling. He carefully examined the marjoram, noting it’s sweet but pungent aroma. 

“Marjoram is a symbol of desire and happiness,” noted Hannibal as he returned to Will by the plant stand. “It has a long history of  being used  in love potions.” He smiled as he peered into the pot.  “Some believed that if a young woman placed marjoram under her pillow while she slept, her future spouse would  be revealed  to her in a dream .”

Will cocked a grin and shook his head.  Though sometimes during sessions Will found Hannibal’s commentary about God and the human condition sententious, he was finding this new and relaxed version of his friend rather Romantic and quite poignant at times, and this brought him a great comfort  .  Even in his turbulent state of unrest, Will  was reminded  of a time years ago when he and Hannibal shared a connection that he hoped hadn’t  been lost  over the last three years  . He set down the marjoram and picked up a tiny rosemary plant, bringing it to his nose. Its scent immediately reminded him of both cooked poultry and,  sadly , Christmas.

“ _Ros_ marinus _,_ meaning _dew of the sea_ ,” explained Hannibal, picking up his own pot to inspect. “It's said that Aphrodite  was draped  in rosemary when she emerged from the sea. So it, too, is often associated with love.” 

“Are you trying to say something, Hannibal?” said Will, raising his eyebrows.

Hannibal smirked, amused by his insinuation. “It’s not my fault you seem drawn to the more  romantically  significant herbs, Will,” he said, smiling. “If you are so concerned with their historical significance, might  I suggest  a mint?” He handed Will a tiny mint seedling, its scent potent and sweet. “In Rome, Pliny insisted students wear a wreath of mint  in order to  invigorate their minds.” He tapped Will’s temple as he grinned. “As your doctor, I may suggest you do the same.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at Hannibal’s rich and sentimental mind. “What about savory?” he asked, exchanging his mint for a freshly sprouted savory plant.

Hannibal cocked a grin. “Are you sure you want to know?” Will glared at him, but the man continued anyway. “The Latin name for savory, _Satureja_ , is a derivative of the word for _satyr_ – the half-man, half-goat,” he stated, peering into Will’s pot. “Have you heard the myths?”

“I’m familiar,” he said, with a mocking grin.

“Then you are aware that the satyr had an insatiable sexual appetite,” he explained, raising his eyebrows. “Satyrs are said to have lived in meadows of savory, thus implying that it was the herb that made them so passionate. From that lore, winter savory was thought to decrease sexual desire, while summer savory was said to be an aphrodisiac.”

“That so?” smirked Will.

Hannibal snickered. “It’s not as beloved now, which is a shame. It’s an exquisite herb – bold and peppery. Your balcony actually grows the winter species... but I should probably plant the summer variety out there soon,” he grinned.

Will’s brows raised again. “Do I seem in need of an aphrodisiac, Hannibal?”

Hannibal feigned an internal debate. “I suppose you’re right. You don’t.”

“Oh?” he scoffed.

“Just an observation, Will,” he chuckled. “You’ve seemed a tad coquettish. No aphrodisiac needed.” He coyly stared at Will, a smirk unwavering from his face.

“Oh, I have?” he mocked. “Coquettish? I think you may be confusing flirtation with just plain old friendliness.”

“Am I?” he wondered. “My _unfortunate_ mistake.” He leaned towards Will’s ear and whispered, “Perhaps I should plant the savory then.”

Will nervously snickered, shook his head and carefully returned the pot back to the table. He was growing quite uncomfortable with this conversation, so a change of subject was definitely in order. “Well don’t expect me to tend to anything out there. I’ve never been much of a gardener.”

“And yet you own a farm,” chuckled Hannibal.

Will sighed at the reminder. “Not any more,” he noted, thinking of the foreclosure.

Hannibal paused with a slight wince. “A faux pas, Will, I apologize,” he said, noting the sadness blooming in Will’s eyes.

“It’s fine,” he assured. “So why are we here anyway?” He was hoping that the reason for their trip would take his mind off the shattered fragments of his life.

“Aubergine and lamb, and a host of other things. If you see anything that catches your eye, please indulge yourself. I am always looking to expand my culinary répertoire.”

They walked along the street still bustling with activity. “How often do you come here?” asked Will, noticing how alive the air felt.

“Weekly, when it’s in season, unless I’ve had a particularly troubling day. Then I come just to enjoy the vibrancy of being surrounded by so much culinary potential,” he smiled.

“I can understand the draw. It’s rather robust, both with people and produce, I mean.” Hannibal’s snicker went unnoticed as Will was inspecting the enticing nature of several varieties of asparagus arranged in a rainbow of green, white, and purple. “You know, my New Year’s resolution was to learn to cook this year.”

Hannibal nodded, “Maybe it’s fate that brought you here.”

Will scoffed at that prospect. “If I ever meet Fate, I’m kicking her in the balls,” he stated, and Hannibal laughed. Will, however, grew solemn. “Tonny wanted to become _less worthless_. He wanted to better himself,” he shared, pensively staring down the street as they walked.

“Is he succeeding?”

“Well technically, I guess. Serving time for crimes committed could be considered a worthwhile goal – you know, paying back his debt to society. But then again, relapsing isn’t exactly bettering himself.” Will watched two boys kicking a ball in the street and wistfully yearned for his old life.

“Coffee, Will?” asked Hannibal as they stopped in front of a small outdoor café. Will agreed with a nod.

They both sat at a small table outside the café to continue enjoying the scenes and smells of the marketplace. Will sipped at his coffee, grateful for the change in environment and for Hannibal’s attempt to console him by bringing him here.

“What’s on your mind, Will?” asked Hannibal, breaking Will out of his reflection.

He shook his head, “Just reflecting on the state of things.” He watched Hannibal nod in understanding. “Can I ask you something?” asked Will, leaning on the small, round table towards the man.

“You never have to ask that, Will,” he replied, sipping his coffee.

“What exactly is your problem with Tonny? I get that he can be rough and hard to take, but you _hate_ him,” Will emphasized, his eyes narrowing. “It can’t just be because he’s rude and vulgar. That would be ridiculous. So what is it exactly that makes you find out you have a son, but just dismiss him entirely?”

Hannibal pondered this a moment. “I have a son in that I have a descendant that shares my genetics, but that is all. I have no obligation to Tonny simply because we share DNA. He was raised by someone else. I was never told of his existence. I was never approached for support – financial or otherwise. I have no responsibility to him. His actions are, to me, contemptible, despite what you would like to hear.”

“So you don’t feel _any_ obligation towards him? You don’t share any sort of emotional bond with him knowing that you helped create him?” Will was genuinely curious.

“If I had known of his existence, Will, I would have encouraged his mother not to carry him. Neither of us were in a position to care for a child. I believe his mother acted irresponsibly. I also believe that her irresponsibility has created a petty criminal who has sired another child who will now grow up in a broken and painful home. As unfortunate as all of this is, I can take no blame or responsibility for any of it. Though had it been my way, none of it would have happened at all,” insisted Hannibal.

“Of course, your way means that I would never have met Tonny, and Aksel would never have been born,” he countered.

“True, but look where you are – broken and distraught, without a son, and your … _farm hand_ locked away, all because of Tonny’s impulsive and destructive nature.”

“All that aside, I’m still wondering about your behavior since discovering _you’re_ a father. Aksel’s not even _remotely_ related to me and I would die for him. Your feelings towards Tonny just baffle me,” admitted Will, fingering the handle of his cup.

“You _chose_ to love Aksel, Will. You decided to fall in love with him, and you did so when he was an infant, affording you time to learn to respect and nurture him. Love is always a choice. Even a parent’s love – despite what society would have you believe. Humans have emotional bonds to their offspring because it is evolutionarily relevant, but that draw is superfluous now. One doesn’t need to unconditionally love a murderer, rapist, or anyone else who may violate, mistreat, or injure another, simply because they are genetically related. No one is obligated, but if you choose to love someone like that, well, I suppose that would make you special indeed.”

Will could see his point, but it was still unsettling. Perhaps because it was simply not what he wanted to hear. He found it disquieting to have such animosity between the people he cared about. “If love for a child is a choice, then hate is as well. Why do you _choose_ to hate him?” he asked, sipping his coffee.

“The opposition to caring for and feeling responsibility towards Tonny is not to hate him, Will. It is to be indifferent to him. I am indifferent to Tonny. The acrimony between us is simply a conflict of our personalities. Surely, you can to allow me that. As you have said, he isn’t easy to take.”

“But you don’t get to see the side of him that I do,” insisted Will. “You haven’t seen him joke and play and be excited and generous with his time and …” Will wanted to go on, but as he listened to himself list off Tonny’s positive attributes, he felt his throat go dry as it seized up with grief.  

“Do I have to see those things? Hitler was an expert strategist and a visionary. He was a man of extreme conviction and a brilliant orator, not to mention an aspiring artist. Does one have to accept his positive traits in lieu of his negative ones? Am I not allowed to make my own personal judgments of another individual’s character?”

Will scoffed at the analogy. “Did you just compare Tonny to _Hitler?”_ he incredulously questioned, and Hannibal smiled.

“It was an example, Will. Don’t read too deeply. The only similarity between the two is probably a love of _Windbeutel_ ,” he joked. Will shook his head, but snickered in agreement. Hannibal sighed as he continued. “Be that as it may, it seems the perspective that you are not considering here, Will, is _mine_ ,” he sadly suggested.

Will’s eyebrows raised unconsciously as he finished his coffee, and stared intently at Hannibal. “How so?” The grief was still a pang in his chest but he swallowed it back to listen.

“You are a dear friend of mine, Will, and I was forced to watch you deteriorate after you met him. You were confused, depressed, and even allowed Tonny’s addiction to cloud your own judgment. You experimented with illegal drugs, began drinking heavily, and started smoking. Your speech has even suffered.”  

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” smirked Will with a grin. Hannibal wasn’t as amused, so Will continued, “Do you really think all of that was just because of Tonny? What about the encephalitis?”

“It is possible your illness has played a part, but I highly doubt you would have sought out cocaine had he not been living in your home, supplying it to you.”

Will scoffed defensively at this remark. “You make it sound like I became a junkie overnight. God forbid I do anything, lest it be held against me for the rest of my life.”

“ _C'est la vie_ ,” smiled Hannibal, shrugging. Now it was Will who wasn’t amused. “In all honesty Will, I don’t think you fully appreciate what your friendship has meant to me. It was more than just painful to watch you decline. It was more than simply frustrating to find out you were relying on degenerative substances just to live. I was watching you pour your life and emotions into a destructive relationship.” Hannibal reclined in his chair and began running his finger around the rim of his coffee cup in thought before continuing, “And now, three years later, I am witnessing it all happen again. Only now your child’s life hangs in the balance – along with your own – and it’s all occurring under my roof. It’s more than just unsettling to me, Will. It’s alarming.”

Will was stunned, and diverted his gaze apologetically. He had no idea this had been affecting Hannibal in such a way. “Is that why you left?” he asked, looking down at the table.

Hannibal slowly nodded. “It affected me greatly, Will,” he admitted, “In ways you probably can’t even imagine.” He finished his coffee and they sat together in silence, gazing absently at the foot traffic on the street next to them.

“You have told me that you think Tonny is finished with your relationship. Do you feel the same way? Is your relationship over – to you?” asked Hannibal, returning his attention to their conversation.

Will inhaled and thought. This was an idea he had simply been denying any contemplation. Was it over between the two of them? If it wasn’t over, could it ever recover? He could no longer trust Tonny, and there was a very real possibility that he’d remain in prison after the trial for his father’s murder. He had confessed to Will four years ago, and despite the mental and physical collapse that Will endured immediately after that confession, he still remembered it vividly.

But there was Aksel to think about as well. If Tonny stayed in prison, Charlotte would remain his legal guardian. In the case of some miraculous intervention that released Tonny from prison, he’d seek shared custody again. But then Will would be forced to share custody with Tonny. Despite Tonny’s current issues with Will, he couldn’t fathom a scenario in which the man wouldn’t allow him to continue as one of Aksel’s parents. But Charlotte could certainly contest it. It was all just so overly complicated now – what with so many lives involved.

So Will was left wondering – where did all of this leave him? Tonny was spiraling downwards – and he was a murderer, after all. The man was no stranger to violence, and knowing he was using again was unacceptable. Will couldn’t possibly tolerate this behavior, especially after multiple relapses.

“I think it’s over, Hannibal,” Will admitted, exhaling a painful whimper and staring at his empty cup. They had been together for four years and had raised a child. They had a home, and a life, but now it was over.

Hannibal nodded in understanding. “I’m sorry, Will. I wish this hadn’t happened this way,” he said, and he meant it. “I don’t know what the future holds for you, Will. But you will _always_ have a home here, if you need it.”

Will looked at Hannibal and sighed. “Thank you, Hannibal.” His offer did help him considerably, considering he had nowhere else to go.

“Are you sure that you can move on from Tonny, Will?” he asked one more time for clarity.

Will nodded, “Yes, eventually. But I will never – in my life – get over losing Aksel.”

Hannibal nodded as Will’s lamentations began watering the seeds of the freshly concocted plans growing within his mind.


	14. Reveal Itself Unto Thy Sight

Tonny struggled to open his puffy scratchy eyes, lying flat on a stiff medical gurney. He was still unable to see out of his swollen and seeping right eye. His gut erupted in a nauseated growl that sent acrid bile up his throat. Sweat soaked through his clothes and his skin burned and ached with a new unrelenting fever.

 _Why am I still waking up here?_ he wondered. _Why am I still waking up?_ He had already learned that asking ' _what else could go wrong'_ was a painfully unwelcome invitation for the demons to find him. Asking instead ' _why was this happening at all'_ seemed to give him a worthwhile question to focus upon as he attempted to seek explanations and justify his own seemingly _unending_ and torturous existence. His internal questioning wasn’t a spiral of self-pity however, as he sought no attention from others, but rather an inquisitive eddy within a much larger existential crisis. The reason for his own existence was a concept Tonny had not often taken time to ponder, but now, broken, debilitated, and unable to move or breath without agony, he wondered daily – hourly – secondly – why he was still here and how it had all come to this.

He had attempted to escape, to slip out unnoticed, and he failed. He always failed. He woke up in the night, ill and more devastatingly alone than he had ever been. He was sick and weak and he never made it to work that day, though he had, honestly, tried.

This was his fourth trip to the infirmary, having been beaten black and bloody on his way down the hall, and it would be the final act necessary to warrant him a new cell in a new block, as though that would change matters.

A headache unrelentingly pulsed under the old scar on his scalp. His useless hands fell to his sides with more fingers splinted and taped than not. His ribs had been broken twice, and sharply twinged with each lungful of air. As he breathed shallower and shallower to avoid the pain, his mind dizzied and his eyesight yielded to floating explosions of color that blinded him as much in the day as they did in the darkness.

Why he had woken up, he couldn’t answer. What he was supposed to do now, he had no idea. He had tried to elude this physical pain. He had tried to dull and quiet his devastated mind. But he failed, and in that failure, he lost everything. It was his final attempt to gain control of his own life. But now, he was truly, utterly, hopelessly without options. So he chose to waste away.

He unsuccessfully tried to explain to the guards why he continually faced brutally violent attacks from other inmates. In fact, they seemed as baffled and disturbed as he did. So Tonny took it. He took every second of the pain and agony of being relentlessly attacked, and it became his new norm. This was his new natural state of being – abused and bloody but still alive. To him, the attacks were simple enough – they were quick, though brutal. But how he loathed to feel his body healing – the tenderness of bruises, the itching of scabs, the weeping of swollen, bloody eyes. The dying was easy. It was living that he found impossible to handle. So he now spent his evenings alone in his cell, forced to tend to his wounds all night, longingly staring at his phone in the hopes that he could hear a voice – _his_ voice. That voice never came; and though his heart was relatively unscathed by these physical assaults, it was just as bruised and weeping as the rest of him.

So Tonny laid on that gurney alone and found solace within the prison of his own mind. He retreated inward in the hopes of passing this punishment of time. Inside his mind, he walked. He stumbled through the darkness, feeling for imaginary walls to lean on. He’d stagger and trip and land in a memory that felt just beyond his reach.

He would notice the heat on his face. It felt like a warm, sunny afternoon, or a tender compliment disguised within an insult. His pulsing, beating, stuttering heart pounded in his chest, but his focus on the warmth would fade. He could taste the bitter salt of unwashed hands that clumsily found their way to his lips. Fervent smiles warmed him again and he tried to focus his eyes on faces as he groped in the darkness. His mind flashed with a myriad of random scenes and emotional impressions. Dirty fingernails and muddy boots and a slamming screen door. Long strenuous days and longer anxiety-filled nights. Barking dogs that clattered across hardwood floors. Biting sticks under his back. Sharp glass. Resentful teeth gnawing at his neck. Laughs and glances and touches and fires. He wandered farther back, fumbling and stopping just long enough to watch himself nervously walk across a moonlit bridge in the rain – or run desperately searching through the darkened woods – or revisiting a stream to console a troubled companion who sat there, alone and scared.

He slowly trudged through his own murky thoughts, losing himself again in shamefully bloodied sheets, the cold chill of fear suppressed by his desire to hold and comfort a collapsed and broken man. Then he felt skin, warm and flush, as worry turned to wanting, and he succumbed to the urgent need to have someone console _him_ as he fought to stay strong for them both.

The dry warmth from laughing smiles and burning fires yielded to the heat of water as it slowly cascaded down his body. This was his favorite place to visit as it was the only respite that brought him real comfort from his nightly physical torment. His breath grew hot and he panted as the water flooded his body, washing away with it dirt and blood and shame. He was then engulfed within a pulse of lust and satisfaction. He felt himself gasp in this place. The warmth and joy spread through his body like a satisfying exhaustion, making him weak and heavy. His tender skin prickled and grew warm, and he could physically feel rough hands on the sides of his neck, pulling him as they massaged his skin. His nose could smell him – dirty, sweaty, musky flesh mixed with clean and sweet-smelling soap. To pluck that scent out of his mind and bring it to reality would have been a gift straight from god. But he could only experience it here, in this, the prison within his mind.

The long dark halls of this world could change. They flowed over time and led him to strange places he had long forgotten. He often came here for smells and tastes to reconnect with the people he assumed he had lost. Other times he would unconsciously fall in, escaping the harsh reality of physical violence or visceral fear or frightening uncertainty. He spent almost his entire hospitalization here after his skull was split, avoiding the loneliness of his empty hospital room and the endless throbbing of his flesh.

In this moment, this mind prison afforded him protection from mental collapse. It was now his only connection to the outside world, and it was all within his head. Even if he understood that it wasn’t real, the sensations brought to him the only comfort he was allowed in this place.  

He would’ve spent much more time within his mind if authoritative and physical demands weren’t constantly placed upon him. He would’ve happily live there forever. And he would’ve have gladly died there… if they’d let him.


	15. The Transient Farce of Goods

She stood, as did her mother, in the center of their small apartment living room, chained, tethered, and crucified. Their arms had been severed, removed at the shoulders, and were curiously missing. Their heads were each locked within a small wooden frame, immobilized – though now clearly dead – their glassy eyes fixed upon the wall in front of them. It was a naked, blank wall, save the grotesque shadows that were haphazardly projected upon it by the lamp immediately behind them. Sticky black blood pooled at their feet, having rushed from the deep gaping slices splitting each woman’s bare abdomen down its center.

The boy, fortunately enough, still slept – though fortune had nothing to do with it. 


	16. Imprisoned in the Viewless Winds

“Good afternoon, Will. How are you feeling?” wondered Hannibal, glancing up from the countertop to see Will entering the kitchen. It was already two in the afternoon and Will was finally falling out of bed. He had slept in his clothes from the day before and looked, as always, a mess.

Will was rubbing his face, exhausted from a sleepless night dealing with nightmares and anxiety attacks. “Not great,” he croaked, clearing his throat. He’d spent the night wrestling with a multitude of demons. The guilt he felt for not calling or seeing Tonny fought with his grief for knowing the man wanted nothing to do with him. He was angry about the state of affairs with Aksel, and that demon battled mercilessly with the shred of acceptance he had slowly been developing. And then there was Hannibal. He was beginning to notice certain peculiarities about the man’s behavior and intentions towards him. While he was enjoying their occasional playful goading and their amiable flirtation, he was left wondering where their relationship stood and where it could be going. All of this left Will in a state of misery as his mind refused to rest, and he was becoming increasingly irritable and short-tempered.

He sighed, however, feeling a mild relief at entering the kitchen. It was a calming place of contentment for him, and he enjoyed watching Hannibal prepare their meals. The man was passionate and graceful, and the tranquility eased Will’s aching and broken mind. Today, however, the kitchen smelled a bit odd.

“Are you no longer sleeping, Will?” asked Hannibal, still eyeing him.

Will groaned and rubbed his neck, as he looked around for the smell. “I don’t know. No, not really. My mind has been … restless. Confused, I’ll say. It’s getting worse,” he huffed, distressed and uneasy at the thought of his mental instability. Will casually glanced at the stove, on which a large stock pot bubbled away, filling the kitchen with that unique but rather unpleasant meat- _like_ aroma. “What’s in the pot?” he asked with a wrinkled nose.

“Gelatin. I’m reducing it,” he said, his eyes returning to his cutting board.

“You make your own _gelatin?”_ he skeptically questioned, his nose still wrinkled.

“I make my own everything, Will,” he said flatly, still methodically slicing.

Will scoffed and slowly followed Hannibal’s eyeline down to the board, upon which sat a pile of maroon-colored meat he was trimming and chopping.

Will furrowed his brow with more concern. “And what’s that?” he asked, curiously wondering if it was what he thought.

“Your dinner,” smiled Hannibal, looking in his eyes.

Will’s nose relaxed as his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Those look like _kidneys_ ,” he noted, nonchalantly. The pair stared at each other for a moment before both their gazes returned to the meat.

“That’s because they are, Will,” stated Hannibal, his attention returning to his knife. He continued to chop the meat into bite-sized pieces.

Will scoffed at his straightforward response. “What are you making ... with _kidneys?”_

Hannibal cocked a coy smile. “Dinner, Will,” he teased.

Will rolled his eyes, staring at him unamused. As though _this_ – an offal Abbott and Costello routine – was what he needed right now. “I’m going for a smoke,” he declared, turning towards the door. He’d have no more of this nonsense.

“You really should quit, Will,” suggested Hannibal as Will reached the doorway.

“Yeah, well, it’s amazing, Hannibal,” he snapped, “I didn’t really ask you, so …” He shook his head dismissively as his voice trailed off.

Hannibal raised his eyebrows. “No need for defensiveness, Will … or _rudeness_ ,” he cautioned,  eyeing the man with a severity that made Will’s skin crawl. “It was merely a suggestion,” he smiled as his eyes softened.

Will held his forehead, now regretful of his tone. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to – ah – _snap_ , I guess. I’m just not sleeping,” he reiterated, turning back to Hannibal. His major issues of late were primarily because he didn’t have Tonny physically with him. Tonny had been Will’s rock through all his mental anguish and breakdowns over the last four years. The man had held him and comforted him during his darkest hours. They’d worked out a fairly intuitive system to deal with Will’s unending anxiety, but without Tonny there to watch and monitor Will’s panic attacks, to hold him and keep him rooted in reality, to lessen the physical pain that his nightmares brought, Will felt utterly lost.

“Nicotine is a stimulant, Will,” argued Hannibal, returning his attention to the kidneys. Will glared at him and scoffed yet again as he walked down the hall and away from Hannibal’s _oh so clever_ comments. He was too agitated to deal with more antagonism.

“Enjoy your _fucking_ kidneys!” he yelled as he reached the front door.

Hannibal chuckled to himself. “And enjoy them we shall,” he boasted under his breath, quite delighted.


	17. God’s Grandchild

“Ok, thank you. Right, next week... Thanks.” Will hung up the phone, aghast. His mind reeled and he was in total and utter shock. He slowly wandered from his bedroom and meandered down the hall in a daze. Hannibal was downstairs reading when he entered the drawing room.

“Will?” asked Hannibal, noticing the man’s distant and agitated demeanor. “Are you ok?”

“Something happened,” he mumbled, sliding into a chair across from Hannibal.

“Oh?” Hannibal set down his book to intently listen.

Will was shaking his head, “Something happened to Charlotte. She and her mother are dead.” He was in shock, unable to grasp this idea. _What the hell had happened?_ he wondered as he stared off into space.

Hannibal appeared stunned. “Dead?” he asked. “And Aksel?”

“He’s fine, thank god.” Will rubbed his face as the enormity of this hit him. “He’s in the hospital but he’s ok. He was drugged.” His voice was trembling and panicked. “I just got off the phone with my lawyer. He's still trying to push for me to get custody, but no one's listening. They're looking for more family members. Not having much luck, apparently.” He was rubbing his face in disbelief. “What the fuck happened?” he asked himself, overwhelmed and shaken. “It was some sort of ritualistic murder... I have no idea. Greg doesn’t know either. The police haven’t released anything, but it sounded..." his mouth dropped open as he rapidly shook his head, "fucking _horrible._ I have to look into it.” He covered his mouth with his hand, “I can’t believe this is happening.” He sighed and gathered his thoughts. “But all this puts us back to square fucking one with this custody shit. God only knows what goddamn degenerate they're going to find to take him now.” He was rubbing his eyes with his palms, trying not to think. He held back the sobs threatening to surface. What was he going to do? He didn’t even know where Aksel would be sent. It could be halfway around the world for all he knew.

“They're looking for a blood relative?” asked Hannibal.

“Yeah,” confirmed Will, sitting back in his chair, rubbing his neck. His eyes were distant and dark. Everything felt hopeless.

“Would you like _me_ to contact your lawyer?” asked Hannibal.

Will’s eyes found Hannibal’s, and his mouth fell agape as he thought about this possibility. “Oh my god, Hannibal. Yes, fucking _yes!_ Oh my god! Holy shit, let me get my phone!” Will sprinted up the steps and burst into his room fumbling for his phone before running back downstairs.

“Holy shit, yes!” he was practically giddy with excitement as he called his lawyer back with this new idea.

* * *

“I can’t believe this is happening. Fuck, I can’t believe this is happening,” repeated Will. He was elated, but terrified. Hannibal and he sat, waiting with Will’s lawyer at the Child & Family Services Office in Copenhagen. It had been a long week, but after about a dozen phone calls, they had flown to Denmark to meet with a representative from the office. They ended up staying most of the week in the city as tests were completed and Hannibal met with social workers. His credentials and his psychiatry background seemed to speed along the process, and Will felt eternally indebted to the man. The unwavering anxiety of the situation, naturally, had Will on the brink of another nervous breakdown; though he was assured early on that while the formalities took time, Aksel would be allowed to leave the city, and indeed the country, with his paternal grandfather. Will could kiss him, he was so grateful. In truth, however, Will was willing to do much much more than just _that_ for the man who was giving him back his son.

Will restlessly glanced around the office, focusing on each entrance, while Hannibal stared at Will's nervously bouncing knee.

“Will, calm down. Everything is fine,” he said under his breath.

“Nope. Not gonna calm down,” he insisted, still looking back and forth tensely. “Not until he’s _here_ in my arms – and even then, nope.” He stared out the paneled glass window that overlooked the sidewalk and out into the busy street. “I will be calm when he’s in my arms, in my bed, asleep tonight,” he said, biting his lip and counting the window panes yet again. “Nope, not even then. I’ll be calm when I’m dead,” he concluded. “Where the hell are they?” He stood to get a better vantage out the window. Just cars, bikes, and busses passed by. “It was 3:30, right?” Will checked his phone. “Why did they say 3:30 if they weren’t going to be here _at_ 3:30?"

“Deep breaths, Will,” chuckled Hannibal.

Suddenly the door to the office opened and a portly women entered, holding Aksel’s hand.

Will’s breath caught in his throat. “Oh my god,” he gushed at the sight of his nervous little boy. Will stumbled around the row of chairs, his eyes never leaving Aksel's troubled face. He ran to his son, scooping him up in his arms. He held his face to his shoulder as Aksel, crying, nuzzled into his Papa’s shirt. Will fell to his knees in pure unmitigated relief. “Oh my god, buddy,” he quietly sobbed as he tightened his grasp, “Aksel, oh my god...” he softly repeated between tears of joy. “Buddy, never again. You will _never_ leave my sight. _Never_ Aksel,” he promised. He kissed his face and his soft blonde hair as his son gripped his shirt, burying his face against Will’s neck.  

Hannibal slowly stood and watched the reunited pair embracing on the floor. He spoke briefly to Aksel’s attendant before approaching Will and the child, crouching down. “Will?” he asked, smiling. “Let’s take him home.” Will lovingly beamed at the man who had so generously restored his heart to his chest, unable to stop nodding.


	18. Thrilled with Love

It was slow, but Will was determined. In the two weeks since Aksel’s arrival, Will and his son had created new routines together in spite of the separation. Every day the pair played, and talked, and explored the house and the vineyard. Every night they read the same books and cuddled in Will’s bed until they fell asleep. Every morning, like this morning, they awoke and walked to the kitchen, Aksel nervously clutching Will’s hand.

Will scooped up the boy and sat him on the counter. “What’s for breakfast, bud?” he asked him, and Aksel shook his head. “Well, I can make you cheesy eggs, or I think there’s still sausage from yesterday. That sound good?” This was the hardest part of the day – meal time. Aksel never wanted to eat. It broke Will’s heart to see him so distraught that he couldn’t even stomach the food he used to love. He tried not to let his sadness show on his face, but it was so incredibly tragic. “Toast again?” he asked. Aksel shook his head.

“Good morning,” chimed Hannibal, entering the kitchen. “And Happy Birthday, Aksel – and you too, Will.” He smiled at them both.

“Oh um, Aksel’s birthday is actually the 12th,” corrected Will. It was July 6th, and Will had completely forgotten it was his own birthday. Tonny and he always took Aksel out to dinner the weekend between their birthdays, and the memory made his heart ache with nostalgia.

“No, it’s the 6th,” insisted Hannibal before hesitating. “Isn’t it?” Hannibal froze and backtracked in his mind. It was the 6th. It was on Aksel’s birth certificate, a copy of which he had filed away in his safe, obtained the prior year during his arduous research into Tonny and his crimes. Will and Tonny had simply guessed a date for the boy’s birthdate because neither had known. “If not, my mistake,” he clarified. “But if it’s not, I guess your Papa will have to eat all of these himself,” he said to Aksel, holding up a white paper box.

Aksel looked at the box, intrigued. “What is it?”

 _“Pain au chocolat,”_ smiled Hannibal. “Do you like chocolate, Aksel?”

Aksel smiled and nodded. “Perfect. I don’t think your Papa will mind if you eat some of these for your breakfast.” He set down the box next to Aksel and opened it. Inside were flaky golden croissants wrapped around thick pats of creamy dark chocolate.

Aksel’s eyes widened and he carefully took one out of the box. Will closed his eyes, choking back his relief, eternally grateful that Aksel was choosing to eat anything on his own.

“Thank you, Hannibal,” he sighed, nodding his head. “That was _incredibly_ kind of you to do,” he stressed, looking into Hannibal’s eyes.

“You’re welcome, Will,” nodded Hannibal, smiling.

Aksel happily, and messily, gobbled up two of the croissants. Will and Hannibal lovingly watched him enjoy every flake.

“Do you like them, Aksel?” asked Hannibal, leaning against the counter towards the boy still sitting on it. Aksel enthusiastically nodded his head. “These are French. Did you know we are in France right now?” he asked, and Aksel nodded.

“Papa told me France is in Europe,” he said, meekly avoiding direct eye contact with Hannibal.

“Your Papa is correct. France is a very nice place full of very nice people who speak a language called French. Do you know any French words?”

“Daddy taught me _far_ means _father,_ and _brand_ is _fire,_ and _legetøj_ means _toy_ ,” he explained to Hannibal.

“Very good, Askel. That is actually Danish. It is what your Daddy spoke growing up in Denmark.  French is a little different than Danish, though. In French, _father_ is _père_ , _fire_ is _le feu_ , and _toy_ is _le jouet._ What do you think these are called?” he asked, holding up a croissant.

“I don’t know,” the boy confessed, examining the pastry in Hannibal’s hand. Will watched from behind his son, smiling with delight at their exchange.

 _“Pain au chocolat,”_ Hannibal said slowly. _“Pain_ means _bread,_ and _chocolat_ means _chocolate.”_

 _“Pain au chocolate,”_ repeated Aksel, and Hannibal smiled.

“Hmm,” he wondered, “Would you like to learn about more French food?”

“What kind of food?” he asked, peering into the pastry box again.

“Well, today is your Papa’s birthday. What do you think about helping me make him a nice dinner?” he asked, and Will warmly smiled, his eyes tenderly watching Hannibal. He was captivated by his gentleness with his son.

Aksel smiled at Hannibal’s proposition. “Ok, but what do I have to do?”

“Well, there is a kind of pie, sort of like a tart, that mixes eggs and herbs and cheese together to make a dish called a quiche. Do you think you could help me crack the eggs?”

“Yes!” exclaimed Aksel, visibly getting excited at the prospect of being allowed to crack eggs. Will was often rather controlling in the kitchen, so Aksel had only experienced what little Tonny had allowed him to experiment with, which was minimal at best since Tonny himself was a disaster in the kitchen.

“Well this is perfect!” grinned Hannibal, “You can crack the eggs, stir the filling, and pour the milk. I think you’ll do great. Would you like to come with me to the market to buy the ingredients?”

Aksel nodded, still grinning ear-to-ear. “Can Papa come?” he quickly asked, suddenly worried to be separated from his father.

“Of course,” smiled Hannibal. He glanced up at Will, who looked almost about to cry.

* * *

Hannibal and Will carried in their groceries as Aksel wandered in behind them, happily licking his perpetually dripping ice cream cone. He was repeating _crème glacée_ over and over, laughing as the syllables rolled and caught on his tongue.  

“That was … wow,” beamed Will to Hannibal. They both stood in the kitchen unpacking the bags as Aksel wandered up and down the steps in the foyer, now _singing_ the words _crème glacée_ to himself. “I had no idea you were so good with kids, Hannibal.”

“Why do you seem so shocked?”

“I’m not shocked, I’ve just never seen you around kids before. The way you talk to and treat him ... I’m just, I don’t know, pleasantly surprised. And the way you got him to open up about _Charlotte,”_ he whispered, “I just can’t thank you enough,” he gushed.

Will was floored by the whole afternoon. He’d been a nervous wreck, insisting Aksel hold his hand and follow him closely as they meandered through the crowded marketplace. Eventually, Hannibal insisted he and Aksel walk the stalls together, without the anxiety of Will being foisted upon them. The man had strolled with the boy, lovingly explaining and answering every question Aksel asked. He had been patient and generous and allowed ample time for him to run around and play as they explored the market together. Will had watched from a close distance as his child tasted the fruits and herbs Hannibal handed him, and at the end of their adventure, Hannibal had bought him an ice cream, though Will had firmly protested. Hannibal insisted a sticky back seat didn’t bother him in the least, so Will finally relented, much to his son’s delight.

“I was a psychiatrist, Will,” chuckled Hannibal, “I would _hope_ I could still find use out of my degree from Johns Hopkins. Even in the 80s we still studied child psychology,” he laughed, smiling at Will.

“Yeah, I suppose you are right,” admitted Will with a demure smile.

When they had straightened the kitchen, Hannibal lined up the ingredients on the island counter – a dozen brown eggs, a mound of fresh spinach, courgette, a block of Gruyere cheese, onions, and potatoes – each a feast for the eyes on the stark, otherwise empty countertop. Hannibal placed two cutting boards on the counter, a paring knife, a potato peeler, and various other tools before retrieving a wooden step stool from the pantry.

Will leaned on the island watching him. Hannibal certainly had a way in the kitchen. It could only be described as a graceful dance he reserved exclusively for cooking. The manner in which he moved through space was something Will assumed no one could tear their gaze from. _He_ certainly couldn’t. Will studied him as he never faltered, never searched, never wasted a single movement. His body fell into a physical memory and flowed through the kitchen, ritualistically gathering supplies and ingredients. Drawers opened and gently shut. Cupboard handles were softly gripped and slowly released. Hannibal reached far above his head to the highest shelf, and Will was taken by his elongated form as he delicately grasped a dish and lowered it, quietly setting it on the granite – without so much as a clink. He watched him gracefully adjust the water temperature at the sink as he slowly and methodically washed his hands – rubbing his palms together, stroking his wrists with soap, and lathering each individual finger before rinsing them with the steaming hot water. He leaned far down the counter, his body pressing into the countertop as he reached for a towel that was not quite out of his reach. He was carefully drying his hands when he stopped and noticed Will ogling him.

It took entirely too long for Will to realize the man had stopped moving. When he eventually did notice Hannibal’s smirk and furrowed brows, he snapped back into the room and nervously cleared his throat, standing up from the counter. “Do you want me to go get Aksel?” he said quickly, staring at the floor, his breath now erratic.

Hannibal’s brows raised and he briefly bit his lip as he watched Will. “Actually,” he began. “I’d like you to come with me to your bedroom,” he stated, studying Will’s face.

Will’s eyes widened as his mouth fell slightly agape and his face flushed.

Hannibal grinned and walked around the island towards him. He stared into his eyes, still smiling, and watched Will’s pupils dilate and his breath hasten. Hannibal slowly reached out and gently straightened the collar of Will’s shirt, letting his fingers lightly graze the side of the man’s neck. Will’s breath stuttered at his touch and his heart raced. Hannibal leaned towards his ear until Will could feel his hot breath on his cheek and whispered, “Your balcony is east-facing, Will.” He pulled away before continuing. “Might I borrow some of your herbs for dinner?” he asked with a coy smile.  

Will’s breath seized again with a stutter. “My fucking balcony?” he whispered, unsure – but secretly sure – as to why he swore just then. “Right, umm, ok,” he stammered, swallowing back a hunger that had developed in his throat.

“I’m sorry, Will,” apologised Hannibal. “Were you expecting to _cuddle?”_ he mocked, smiling wryly. Will momentarily glared at him and suppressed a nervous scoff. Quickly, to avoid anymore of this painfully embarrassing exchange, Will ducked out of the kitchen with Hannibal following immediately behind.

Will hesitantly opened his bedroom door, nervous and ashamed of the state of the room. It was a complete and total catastrophe. All of the bedding had been wadded at the foot of the bed, cascading down into a twisted pile on the floor below. The carpet was a minefield of dirty clothes and Matchbox cars. Will cringed, closing his eyes, and pretended there weren’t a dozen plates of half-eaten food teetering across every horizontal surface on the room.

Hannibal glanced around, unable to hide his displeasure. “Will ... Anouk would be happy to clean your room for you.”

“Um, she doesn’t have to do that,” cringed Will, flinching with embarrassment at the suggestion.

“What if I _insisted?”_ said Hannibal, taking note of where all the plates had gone.

“Well, the balcony is clean,” asserted Will, and Hannibal nodded as they headed to the glass doors.

Outside, Hannibal approached the pots of herbs. He crouched down to snip off handfuls of rosemary, marjoram, and summer savory, bringing each herb to his face and inhaling before moving to the next. Will stood in the doorway, staring again, still flushed from the comments in the kitchen.

Hannibal stood and sighed, looking out over the vineyard. “You really have the best view in the house,” he admitted, looking out over the lush green rows of grapevines and the rolling hills of fields dappled with trees. He turned to look at Will who was still somewhat lecherously staring at him. “We can go back to the kitchen now,” he added, motioning to the door with a handful of herbs.

“But what about _cuddling?”_ asked Will, cocking his head with a sly grin.

 _“Now,_ Will?” asked Hannibal, looking around. “Your room is atrocious. And besides, birthday gifts come _after_ dinner,” he reminded, winking at him with a smile.

Will inhaled sharply as he winced, covering his eyes with his hand. “Jesus,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “Let’s get the hell back downstairs,” he insisted, hearing Hannibal chuckle to himself.

“Worried?”

“No. Terrified,” he quickly admitted. “Kitchen,” reminded Will, and Hannibal followed him back downstairs, still greatly amused by their exchange.

* * *

Hannibal was _laughing_ – an honest-to-god laugh. Will wasn’t sure he’d ever witnessed the man _laugh_ like this before. He couldn’t hear them talking though, as he had stepped out of the kitchen to allow Aksel a few minutes to open up to Hannibal without him. Will was hovering outside the doorway, still secretly watching them, curious as to what had caused the laughter.

Aksel was cracking eggs and smiling into the bowl as the yolk and bits of shell fell to the bottom. Hannibal held Aksel’s hands on either side of an egg, and they tapped – one, two, three – before pulling it apart. Will watched as he let Aksel stir and spin the eggs in the bowl with a whisk. The man occasionally reached to the stove to tend to the sautéeing vegetables lightly sizzling in their pan.

Hannibal leaned down on the counter and began showing Aksel an egg. His fingers encircled the egg as he spoke and Aksel listened with rapt attention. He handed the boy the egg as he turned to the refrigerator to obtain a second one. Will watched intently as Hannibal took Aksel’s egg and quickly spun it on the counter. They both stood, discussing the spinning egg as it turned sluggishly on its side, before slowing and teetering. When it finally stopped, Aksel picked it up and looked at the man’s face, asking a question. Hannibal held up his finger and then rapidly spun the second egg. It quickly tipped up on it’s end and Aksel gasped as the egg spun and danced around the counter in tight circles. The boy’s eyes were wide with excitement as a barrage of questions flew from his mouth. The man laughed as he spoke, gently pointing to the egg. He momentarily glanced up, still smiling, catching Will in his eyesight. Will’s heart raced as he looked at him. The man’s eyes were soft and jovial, and his tender disposition around his son was enchanting. He grinned at Will before returning his gaze to the boy who was now playing with both eggs.

Hannibal picked up Aksel and slid the stool down the island. He set the child back up in front of a floured countertop on which sat a big ball of pie crust. He stood behind him and helped the boy flatten it, turning and pressing the dough and rolling the pin under both their hands. Will watched Aksel pinch off some dough and look up at Hannibal, asking to eat it. The man smiled and nodded, and Aksel popped it into his mouth. He initially furrowed his nose, but Hannibal took a bite, looked down at him and spoke. So the boy took another piece and popped it in his mouth before the two continued rolling the crust.

Will stood, still watching them. Even with a small child, Hannibal moved with grace through the kitchen. He managed to mop up dropped eggs, dust off floured hands and faces, and still not burn the sautéeing vegetables. Will was amazed by his performance. He looked so incredibly natural it was mind boggling.

The pair continued their culinary dance together – peeling and chopping potatoes, assembling the quiche, and smelling each and every herb, both before and after it was cut. Will was overjoyed to see Aksel tasting, touching, and becoming enamored with food again.

When the whole experience was finished – the quiche sliced and served, and the potatoes herbed and roasted – the family sat together in the dining room, joyfully praising and applauding the boy who had created such a feast in his father’s honor. Aksel grinned and blushed and buried his head in his father’s side.

“Thank you, Aks,” smiled Will as he pulled his son tighter against him. A quiet and muffled _you’re welcome_ escaped the embarrassed child’s lips, and Will kissed him on the head.

Aksel pulled away to look up at his father. “I didn’t make you a cake though,” he realized, sadly.

“Not to worry, Aksel,” smiled Hannibal, standing up. “Anouk, might I borrow you for a moment?” She nodded with a smile and followed him to the kitchen. The pair returned a moment later with four individual plates of a sumptuous berry-covered dessert, setting them down in the center of the table. Atop each plate was a circle of soft, golden ladyfingers encompassing a gooseberry and cream custard. The small cakes were garnished with a generous pile of scarlet red currants and the plate was decorated with a sprig of delicate white flowers from a currant bush.

“What are those?!” gasped Aksel as he climbed back into his chair on his knees. He peered over the desserts with awe, entranced by the elegant little cakes.

“A type of trifle,” explained Hannibal, smiling at the boy’s fascination with the brightly-colored fruit. “Those bright red berries are called currents – _groseille_ in French,” he noted.

“Are they poisonous?!” he exclaimed, looked up at Hannibal, concerned.

Hannibal’s eyes lit up as he chuckled, “No, dear boy. Not poisonous. Just a little tart,” he smirked.

“How did you make them?” he asked, still eyeing the cakes.

Hannibal sat back down in his chair and grinned at the boy. “I cooked gooseberries on the stove until they turned into a sauce. Then I added gelatin and let it cool. The gelatin makes it stiff, you see?” He delicately poked a cake with his fork, making it tremble, and Aksel giggled. “I mixed the sauce with whipped cream and then poured it into a small bowl lined with these spongy thin biscuits. Simple,” he explained. “You can use any fruit you want. I picked gooseberries and currants.”

“I want to make these for _my_ birthday,” he declared. “But can I have candles?” he asked. “And strawberries?” he quickly added.

“Absolutely,” grinned Hannibal, glancing at Will. Will bashfully rubbed his forehead, averting his eyes, finding himself rather taken by the man's generosity.

The family continued their feast, fascinated by Aksel’s retelling of their trip to the market and his adventure in the kitchen. Will delightfully watched as Aksel devoured his quiche in order to more quickly move on to his captivating little cake. The day been the greatest gift Will could ever have hoped to receive on a birthday such as this, and it was entirely the product of Hannibal’s apparent benevolence.


	19. A Sea so Cruel

“Get off the fucking roof, Tonny! Jesus fucking christ!” shouted the ground.

He ignored the commands and looked out over the landscape. He had never seen the farm like this. _Just look down you fuck!_ This was amazing. The sky was so huge! _Look at him … he’s right fucking there!_ He could see down the road to Layla’s house and all the way up the back twenty acres to the river. He could see a glen. _Will’s glen._ _Hadn’t noticed that before..._

“You’re going to break your goddamn neck!” yelled the darkness below.

He continued ignoring the voice as he felt the freezing cold air bite and burn his nose with every inhale. _Just look, for fuck’s sake! Down! He’s on the ground!_ He was blissfully enjoying the freeness of being stuck up in the sky, alone. _No, don’t step there you fucking idiot!_

And then he fell.

Tonny sat up in bed, snapping out of his memory. He had drifted to sleep while exploring his mind and was startled by people walking and talking outside his door. He closed his eyes and laid back on his bed. _Fuck!_ A sharp piercing sting erupted from the back of his head. He reached around and felt his scalp. It was warm, sticky. He looked at his wet red hand with disgust. He’d torn open his stitches again. _Fuck._ His pillow was smeared with fresh bright red blood, which was a rather stark contrast to the brown oxidized blood from days before. He flipped over the pillow to find the other side just as spattered, so he threw the whole damn thing on the floor in disgust.

“Purgatory. Purgatory. Purgatory. Purgatory. Purgatory. Purgaterga. Purgaaterrga…” he whispered to himself as his tongue tied and the word lost all meaning. Of course, this word already had no meaning to Tonny. He knew nothing of religious studies, but he had listened to two inmates in the infirmary argue over the existence of purgatory for six hours yesterday, and the word was now embedded in his mind. Many words were now trapped in his head. _Purification_. _Temporary turmoil_. _Theology_. “Purgatory. Purgatory. Purgatory. Purgatory,” he repeated almost silently. He had tried it with _hell_ but it didn’t have the same effect. He lit a cigarette and slithered onto the cold hard floor, curling up on the pillow he had just hurled there. He stared under his desk at the gobs of dust collecting around an old blanket he had stuffed so haphazardly there. The blanket was crispy and scratchy from blood and sweat and cum. It was uncomfortable, so he had shamefully hidden it under the desk. This meant he no longer had a blanket on his bed, but seeing as Tonny rarely felt chilled, this was not an issue. _Will was the cold one,_ he remembered. _Jesus, he was like a fucking icicle._ _How could a man sweat so much and be so fucking cold?_ Tonny puffed his cigarette out of the corner of his mouth, still lying on the floor on his bloody pillow, staring at a pile of dirty laundry topped with that filthy goddamn blanket. More muffled noises resounded from beyond his door. _Fucking hell, who’s outside?_ He wanted to look, but didn’t care enough to crane his bloody head towards the door. They passed by anyway. “Purgatory. Purgatory. Purgatory. Purgatergoo.”

 _It’s Saturday. No work._ Not having to work on weekends was nice, but it meant he had to spend his days drowning in his hole of a room. He never left anymore for fear of being a victim of opportunity. Boots had broken too many of his fingers in the yard, fists had bruised his gut too many times in the hall, knees had cracked too many ribs on his way to get food, to think leaving for any reason was worth it. _Fuck food._ He would resupply with snack food from the commissary on his way back from work, but that was in two more days. _Two days for food._ Twenty-nine days to the trial. Twenty-nine days until his next sentencing. He blinked. _Two more days until food._

He had lived the last week on _hindbærsnitter._ The wife of the injured pro-purgatory inmate had brought them into the infirmary to share with her husband’s _friends_ . She had given Tonny a huge box of the pastries since she saw him every time she visited her heart-attack-prone husband. They were raspberry-filled and reminded him of Will’s goddamn Pop-Tarts. So much better though. _Will’s a fucking asshole. Cruel fucking asshole ... with a nice ass ..._ He grit his teeth.

“Purgatory. Purgatory. Purgatoog.” He reached up on the desk and felt for his ashtray. He inadvertently smacked it with his knuckle and it slid over the edge of the desk, spilling several dozen butts and their ashes all over Tonny’s head and pillow before the glass dish bounced off the linoleum floor, sending glass chips into the air. It clattered to the ground and the room fell eerily silent again.

Tonny looked at the glass tray through ash-covered eyelashes, still sucking on his cigarette. “Purgatory,” he whispered, sending a wisp of gray dust off his lips. He flicked his cigarette directly on the floor now. “Purgatory. Purgatory. Purgatory.” He scratched his itchy scalp and hissed. _Fuck!_ Black bloody fingernails. He rolled on his back. _Will does have a nice ass though. I wonder why he never let me fuck it. He's a goddamn mental case, that's why._ _God I want to fucking destroy that bastard’s ass._ He slowly closed his eyes and fell back into the blackness of his mind.

“Are you _out_ of your _fucking_ mind!?” Will was freaking out, as always. He said he wouldn’t ... _but the shithead’s a goddamn liar_ . “I thought you wanted to fuck,” he said. _No shit._ Of course he thought that. _But really, Will? Fuck?_ The man had no idea what that even meant.

“Yeah, Will, I know,” chuckled Tonny. “Do some coke with me, and we can,” he said smiling.

He teetered the phone on the back of the toilet, chopping and cutting the powder into lines on the shiny black screen. He rolled the dollar and snorted a line before looking back up at Will. The terrified man was staring down at him like a scared fucking puppy dog.

“You know what they cut that with?” he asked, like Tonny didn’t know. “You’re fucking crazy!”

Tonny scoffed at Will’s constant fucking insults. He, of all people, calling Tonny crazy? That shit was laughable. The man was a fucking mental case. “This shit’s way better than what I was using in Denmark.” Tonny rubbed his nose as he thinned the last line and showed it to Will. “First time. Just a little. You’ll feel happy, like you can do anything. Live a little, Will.”

Will bit his lip. “No. No fucking way Tonny. This is insane,” he declared. _Chicken shit._

Tonny stood up and wrapped his hands around the back of Will’s neck, pulling him into a violent but passionate kiss. Bitterness from the back of his throat mixed with his saliva and he could feel it work its way into Will’s mouth. There was something incredibly fucking hot about penetrating this man’s mouth with his cocaine-covered tongue.

Tonny pulled away. “Live a little, Will. Don't be a fucking pussy.” Oh, that devilish grin. Will was weak ... and this man – he was evil.

Will fell silent in thought. The man never stopped thinking. He overthought. That was his problem. That was his entire fucking problem. _Why did he have to over analyze every goddamn thing?_ Why wasn't a smile ever just a smile? Why did a glance mean Tonny was judging him? Why did a kiss mean he was being irrational? Why did a word have to have twenty fucking meanings, each one more negative than the last?

“What's it like?” asked Will.

_Holy fuck. Is he gonna do it?_

“It's like a confidence boost,” began Tonny. “Makes you feel good about yourself. It'll probably make you a little, I don’t know, jittery? Like it just gives you energy to burn,” he explained, eyeing the man.

“Well yeah, it's a stimulant.”

 _Fuck you, Will._ He knows that. Condescending dick. _Damn, Will has a nice dick too._

“How long does it take to feel it?”

“A few _glorious_ minutes,” chuckled Tonny, trying to sell it.

“Is, uh, this really the best place to do this, though? I mean, a restaurant bathroom, really? Seems dirty, unnecessarily risky, and a bit stereotypical.”

Tonny laughed at Will’s stupid fucking drivel. “You’re fucking crazy, Will. You know how many toilets I've done coke off of?” Tonny shook his head at poor little Will.

“H-How many?” he asked, scratching his head.

Tonny smiled at his complete and utter innocence. Will was entirely out of his element and Tonny was revelling in his naivety. “A lot, Will. And I didn't cut it on the toilet ‘cause I knew you'd flip your shit and never try it.”

“Yeah, that's probably true,” agreed Will, eyeing Tonny's cocaine-covered phone.

“One line,” he insisted, grinning at the poor bastard.

“This is stupid, Tonny. And you're an asshole,” declared Will, stepping towards the toilet.

 _Holy shit. No way. He's gonna do it!_ Tonny's mind was being blown. Will sat down backwards on the toilet, mimicking Tonny. He looked up at him, shaking his head. “Care to explain?”

“Shit ... yeah,” Tonny snapped out of his internal celebration and crouched down next to Will. He rerolled the dollar on his thigh in abject bliss at what was happening.

He held it to his nose, explaining how far was too far in and leaned over the phone in demonstration. He smiled at Will and handed him the straw, patiently waiting.

Will rubbed his face and stared at Tonny. His internal debate was raging again and Tonny could see it. The man was fingering the straw in his hand and Tonny bit his lip watching him. Jesus, it was a tiny fucking line of coke. Will probably wouldn't even feel it, and yet the idea of what was about to happen was so fucking intoxicating to Tonny, he could feel himself getting hard.

Will leaned over the phone and snorted the line, punctuating it with a wince and a cough. He sniffed and rubbed his nose and looked over at Tonny, who was still crouched down next to him.

“Fucking happy now, you goddamn junkie?” he scoffed.

Tonny lecherously grinned and nodded. He stood up and ran his finger down the remnants of cocaine on the glass, licking off whatever stuck to his hand. He casually slid the phone back in his pocket before lifting Will to his feet by a fistful of his shirt. He yanked him away from the toilet and pulled him into his body forcing his hard cock into Will's leg. A salacious moan and then a gasp escaped Will's mouth and Tonny was un-fucking-done. _Jesus christ, was it like this the first time?_ He didn't really remember because he had cataloged the whole experience through the daze of a drunken high. He felt a heat radiating through his belly and his breath gasped and stuttered. His body suddenly relaxed as he attacked Will's mouth with his lips and teeth. He bit and violated him with his vices and his tongue until he felt his hands gripping Will’s shoulders, slamming the man back into the wall.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed, as his back impacted with the divider. He exhaled a loud hungry moan.

Suddenly a knock on the stall door pulled Tonny away from Will's neck. _That's not right._

Tonny suddenly opened his eyes, back on the ash-covered floor. “What?” he barked.

A guard opened his door. “Tonny, your lawyer's here to talk ... What the hell happened to you?” he asked, looking at the pile of cigarettes all over Tonny and the floor. The bloody pillow and Tonny’s flushed cheeks didn't paint a prettier picture. “Clean this mess up,” he ordered, and closed the door.

He slowly stood up, careful to avoid twisting his sore rib. He dusted the ash out of his hair and reached for the door handle. He sighed, dreading the long walk to find out whatever the hell his lawyer wanted now, when he had a rather disturbing and embarrassing realization. He decided he better change his warm, sticky pants first. _Goddamn it Will, you hot fucking bastard. If I ever see you again ... I'm gonna fuck you up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the coke scene seems familiar, it's what happened in the [bathroom of the pub](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8678827/chapters/19918882) Will had taken Tonny too before the blackout on the bridge. Of course, this is Tonny's memory of how it happened, so keep that in mind.
> 
> Oh and the [fall from the roof dream](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8720476/chapters/20149984) was from TDT: Winter.


	20. Down to Throw Himself

“Will? I wasn’t expecting you to be up,” said Hannibal entering the drawing room with a snifter and a bottle of cognac.

Will cleared his throat. “I can’t sleep,” he grunted, rubbing his red eyes.

“Common problem, apparently. Cognac?” he asked, holding up the bottle.

“Sure.” Hannibal quickly retrieved a second snifter, pouring Will a glass of cognac; and they both sat in the leather chairs in the drawing room. It felt, to Will, an awful lot like they were back in Hannibal’s office in Virginia, and he took comfort in that, though his last session there had been rather gruesome.

“How can I help you, Will?”

“I have no idea,” he sighed. “It’s all just an uphill battle. And you – you’ve done enough. Helping me get Aksel back was just unbelievable, Hannibal,” admitted Will, feeling eternally grateful and indebted to him for what he did to get Aksel back to him safely. He was so appreciative of the gentle kindness he’d shown his boy. It stole Will’s heart to watch how delicate he was with him and how sweetly Anouk had been caring for him. She was just as enamored as Hannibal seemed.

“Tell me your battles, Will,” he said, sipping his drink. “Perhaps I can fight them with you.”

“I need to set up an appointment with a child psychologist for Aksel,” he sighed, “And I need to start worrying about my income. I’m going to look into a couple teaching positions here for now, but I really want to get Aksel back to the States as soon as legally possible.”

“Why the rush, Will? You know you’re welcome to stay here,” said Hannibal, leaning forward in his chair, studying Will’s anxious behavior.

“I know, Hannibal, and I am profoundly grateful for that.” Will was nervous, but the glass in his hands hindered his fidgeting. “But I want Aksel to have his world back.” The alcohol would only muddle his feelings, so he sipped sparingly; although a numbness was somewhat welcome to his fragile and exhausted mind. He swirled and looked into his glass, thinking.

“Does that world exist anymore, Will? His father is incarcerated and he has spent the last six months here in Europe. And now, the only mother he has ever known is gone.”

“I know,” admitted Will, his voice soft. He looked at the floor, discouraged. “I just feel so hopelessly lost. I don’t know where to go from here. I poured so much of my time into getting him back. But I had no hope of it ever happening.” He took a large gulp of his cognac and rubbed his forehead. “Now he’s here, and I’m floundering because I let my life evaporate around me. I have nothing now. I have nothing to offer him except your home – _your_ life. And, uh,” he paused and shook his head, “it’s completely inappropriate, and frankly embarrassing.”

“I understand Will, but I have to admit, I‘m disappointed,” stated Hannibal, now looking in his own glass.

Will furrowed his brows in confusion. “What do you mean disappointed?”

“I was under the impression we had moved beyond a doctor-patient relationship. I thought since you were living here we had become friendly. Was I mistaken?”

Will shook his head and stood up to pace the room. “No. No, not at all. We are friends. I don’t mean for it to sound like that. I just feel it’s wrong to continue asking so much of you. I’m uncomfortable with the level of dependency I’m finding myself in.”

“As both your psychiatrist and your friend, Will, I must remind you that you have suffered a trauma yourself. You need time to recover from this as well. Your son is in a new environment – he has lived months with a new family – he has lost people he has loved. But so have you,  and you _need_ to recognise that.”

“I do. I just …,” Will paced and fidgeted, trailing off. He was obsessing. He was wondering how Hannibal could be putting up with any of this. Why did anyone feel compelled to help him – _especially him?_ The sheer quantity of money Hannibal had spent on his family was astronomical. The guilt of feeling like he was taking advantage of the man was overwhelming. His head ached. His mind fogged and he felt the heavy weight of the darkness returning to him, but he had no one to assuage his pain. He felt terrifyingly alone yet again.

Hannibal looked up at him. Will was a wreck. He was pale and worried, and he could see on his face how his mind raced with thoughts of inadequacy and self-doubt. Hannibal nodded, understanding. “Why don’t you work on bringing comfort to yourself first?” Will peered at him with intrigue. “Focus on reuniting and reintroducing yourself. He has only been here a few weeks.” Will sighed as he listened to him talk about Aksel. “Let the boy explore the grounds. Meet the vineyard workers. Take him back to the market. Explore the museums with him, Will. This is not a time for you to be looking for an obligation that will ultimately take you away from him. If he were to start his education in the Fall, that only gives you three months. Take this opportunity to make up for the last six. You won’t regret it.”

Will was floored by both Hannibal’s words and his seemingly unending generosity. _Of course_ he would take any opportunity to be with Aksel – he just hated asking more of Hannibal. He had invaded his home, spent thousands of his dollars, and would now be living there, without contributing a dime, with a small child to take care of. Will’s mind was baffled and confused. He fought with his own guilt and pride – but also the looming question of Hannibal’s motives for such benevolence. How did he view this situation? How did he see Will? What was going on here, and what, if anything, was expected of him? How honorable were Hannibal’s true intentions?

However, one wouldn’t want to offend such a charitable host with obsessions about potentially nefarious motives. Who was Will to question Hannibal’s intentions? If the man was open and willing to allow Will and Aksel the time and opportunity to rebuild their relationship, why should he reject such an offer? He became determined to take advantage of it. “You have no idea how incredible your offer is, Hannibal.” He rubbed his chin and shook his head in disbelief. “If it was any other situation, I wouldn’t be able to accept it – but for his and _my_ sanity, I would love for us to stay.”

Hannibal arrogantly smiled, finishing his drink. “I’m glad to hear it, Will.”


	21. Carnal Malefactors

Will wanders through the hot, dense forest. It is warm  _ –  _ decidedly too warm. He sees a bright blinding light through the far trees and ambles toward it, assuming it’s the edge of the forest. His skin feels cold to the touch, though it beads with sweat. He listens to but ignores the snapping of twigs and branches under feet as he nears the edge of the trees. He turns and walks along the inside of the woods, looking out at huge banks of snow that tower next to the treeline. The snow seems endlessly high, and as he looks up he can see a darkening sky that still floods the land with snow. He approaches the snow and reaches into the imposing icy bank, pulling a handful of powdery snow into the forest with him. It melts in his palm, the water quickly falling through his fingers. He inspects the edge of the forest, searching for another way out, but all he observes is lush, dense foliage and colossal tree trunks. 

The forest is green and unusually fragrant. Large wispy ferns pepper the ground under the towering deciduous trees. Fungi grow in tight clusters along the stumps and dead fallen logs. His attention is unexpectedly captured by the white flowered thicket amongst the trees. It teems with overgrown bushes covered in shiny crimson berries. He studies them, their tight translucent skin mesmerizing him. His eyelids gently droop as he grows more and more languorous in the sweltering dampness weighing on him. His attention lazily drifts between these brilliant red orbs as he slowly and methodically counts the berries in a cluster –  _ nine, ten, eleven, twelve _ … He suddenly detects a low guttural growl emanating from behind him. He quickly turns to discover the large raven-colored elk stag only a few feet behind him. He stops, paralyzed. The stag gradually approaches and Will remains still, unable to move, though not entirely afraid. The stag steps closer until it is mere inches from his face, its hot breath huffing across Will’s cheek. 

_ “Hello,” _ Will whispers out loud, his voice, though soft, sounds heavy in the hot humid air. The stag puffs and bobs its head. Will reaches out and brushes his hand along the elk’s muzzle, feeling its smooth, coarse hair under his fingers. A peculiar feeling of delight overtakes him as he stares into the creature’s eyes. They are glossy and piercing, and he momentarily loses himself in them as he continues to stroke and curiously pet the beast. 

Will welcomes the stag’s radiating heat, which warms his cool skin and the damp ground beneath them. The petrichor emanating from the forest floor reminds him of other familiar earthy aromas, and his breath temporarily catches in his throat.

Will awoke with a jolt, unsure as to where he was. He frantically looked around until his eyes fell on Aksel curled up in bed next to him. He sighed, relieved, before the dream crept back into his mind.  _ What was that about? _ It all seemed oddly familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. He stood, quietly to avoid disturbing his son, and went to the bathroom to change out of his now sweat-soaked clothes. 

After changing into whatever he could find on the bathroom floor – a dry, discarded tee-shirt and old threadbare grey cotton pants, he looked in the mirror and stared at his now finally recognisable face. It had taken months to regain even a miniscule amount of weight, and the summer at the vineyard had afforded him a slight coloring to his cheeks. No longer the color of bone, his skin was now more reminiscent of milk, or perhaps a heavy cream – certainly an improvement. He stared at his ghostly appearance, wondering why these disconcerting and anxiety inducing dreams never seemed to stop. He thought the unsettling dreams with the stag had ended months ago. These troubling visions that made his body react with panic attacks and night sweats, had made him painfully aware of just how easily he could slip back into another nervous breakdown. He rubbed his forehead wondering how long he had until the blackouts returned. He grit his teeth in frustration. This was all far beyond enraging to him. Once these specific nightmares and dreams returned – the ones that caused his intense mental and physical reactions – he stopped sleeping and eating, and his mind withered. The insomnia and mental anguish caused a host of other issues, most revolving around his wavering immune system. He grew sickly and pale, and was threatened with a wide range of illnesses – his encephalitis from several years ago, he assumed, being one of the more dangerous examples. He found himself able to recognise the physical symptoms of a breakdown beginning – the return of his nightmares, a loss of appetite, night sweats, his skin growing prickly and overly sensitive, blackouts and lost time. He often sought Tonny’s physical affection to ease the tension and anxiety that would build and crest in the night during an episode. This was the first anxious dream he’d had since being parted from Tonny, and he could feel the physical distance between them deep in his bones. He knew there was no warmth waiting for him in bed. There was no skin to touch, no neck to bury himself in, no body to writhe against, no pleasure or comfort of any kind. He grew disturbed at this painful awareness, and the warm humid air of the room was making him feel sick.

He crept from the bathroom and out onto the balcony to clear his mind in fresher air. He closed his eyes, sensing the barely cooler breeze slowly move around him. He leaned against the stone wall, feeling the cold rocks relax his irritated skin. He glanced down and noted the pots of herbs on the terrace floor and thought. Shaking his head of his ridiculous notions, he looked out over the vineyard, lit only by the ghostly haze cast by the moon. He slowly inhaled the green, slightly bitter air before returning to the bedroom. 

Will looked down at Aksel, peacefully asleep in his bed. He covered the boy with the sheet and slowly opened the bedroom door, quietly stepping into the hall. He could hear his breath softly echoing and he closed his eyes, trying to focus on the rational voices in his head. Every self doubt, every fear, every worry, simply floated up and out of his mind as he attempted to listen. He carefully walked down the hall, his shirt soaking with sweat once again as the heat of the house slowed his breath, his mind, and his progress. He stopped outside Hannibal’s door, hesitating before finally entering the room.

The man’s room was dark and warm. Will anxiously stepped in and felt a distinct uneasiness creep inside him, as though he was unknowingly entering a wolf’s den. He brushed it off with a shiver and inched slowly to the bed. He gently pulled back the sheet and crawled under it, still stupefied by his total immodesty in this bizarre and inappropriate situation. The sheets were cool on his skin and he felt himself relaxing into them. Through the darkness he could just discern Hannibal's body lying next to him. The man’s relaxed face was tilted towards him, and Will could hear his slow, rhythmic breaths as he watched Hannibal’s chest rise and fall. 

He had no plan. This was as far as his mind had taken him. He stared into Hannibal's face, barely lit by the meager light afforded by the moon and a dim light left on in the bathroom. He looked so much like Tonny, it was shocking even now – the way his hair fell into his face – the curve of his lip – the strength of his jaw. Will banished such thoughts and focused on himself in this moment. He was exhausted, anxious, and still disturbed by his dream. His doubt and apprehension over what he was doing was reforming in his mind, now heavier and more influential, and he had no idea what he was expecting to accomplish.

He closed his eyes and inched closer until his mouth subtly rested on Hannibal's shoulder. He slowly filled his lungs with the earthy scent that always lingered on the man’s flesh and opened his eyes to inspect his skin, smooth and soft under his lips. His eyes followed his neck to his jaw, up his nose, and rested on his closed relaxed eyelids.

Will’s breath suddenly faltered as he watched Hannibal lazily open his eyes and gaze down at him, suspiciously eyeing the man pressed against his shoulder. Will immediately felt exposed and the need to swiftly explain himself – he couldn't find the words, his mind scrambling and stumbling – rational thoughts fought with his impulsive urges. “I, ah, I had a …” he stuttered, slinking away from Hannibal’s skin.

Hannibal turned, shifting himself towards Will. “It's fine,” he assured, his voice low and gravelly. He stared at Will, “No one could begrudge you solace, Will. Especially not now, and especially not me.” He reached out and briefly cupped Will’s cheek, gently running his thumb down the man’s jaw before withdrawing his hand.  

“I can think of a couple people who might,” scoffed Will, nervously steadying his voice. He stared at Hannibal, who seemed oddly calm despite this unexpected intrusion of his bedroom. Will shook his head is disbelief. “I-I don’t know why I can’t cope with anything anymore,” he admitted, covering his mouth as he spoke. His eyes were sorrowful, glancing around the darkened room, and Hannibal studied them.

“What is it you’re looking for here?” 

Will swallowed down his shame. “In your home, or your … bed?” he whispered, his voice almost cracking. 

“In my bed, Will,” clarified Hannibal.

“Um, commiseration? Con-Consolation, maybe? But that excuse is starting to feel self-absorbed,” he stuttered, rubbing his eyes with his palms. “If I admit to needing a warm body, or-or the opportunity for …” he paused, gritting his teeth, “...  _ gratification  _ ... that makes me feel like a parasite. Especially here, in your home.” He lowered his hands and stared at the ceiling.

“I have tried to make it clear that you are welcome here,” sighed Hannibal. He slowly sat up in bed, scratching his neck and peering down at Will over his shoulder. Will’s gaze had followed him, and Hannibal watched as the man’s eyes darted down the skin of his naked back.

Will could sense a slight irritation in Hannibal’s voice and it was causing him a great deal of worry. “Being welcome in your home and welcome in your bed are two very different … um,  _ privileges, _ Hannibal,” he mumbled.

“I offer you both, then,” he stated, sighing at Will’s hesitation. “What more do you need to hear, Will?” 

Will paused, his gut fluttering with anxiety. “I don’t know,” he admitted. His voice was still meek and quiet. He wasn’t entirely sure how he was feeling or what he needed to hear from the man. Part of him felt like an irritating little pissant – most of him felt that way, actually. He pulled the sheet up to his neck, suddenly feeling an inordinate amount of humiliation for crawling under it at all. 

Hannibal watched Will curl into himself and his eyes glass over in apprehension. He softened his face and smiled at him. “If this is what you need, Will, I have no qualms agreeing to it,” he offered. He laid back down and turned to face him as he lightly tugged the sheet out of Will’s clutches. “But I need you to understand that I will never require this of you in return,” he explained. Will turned to look at him, confused. “Whatever you want to do with me requires no reciprocation on your part. This will be purely as you need it to be. Do you understand that?”

“Um, I-I guess,” he said, furrowing his brows. He cocked his head, slightly troubled by that comment.

“Do you really understand me, Will?” Hannibal was skeptical, “I will never call on you for comfort.” He returned his hand to Will's face, gently stroking his cheek with his thumb. “I will never need consolation from you – but I don’t want you to feel rejected by that,” he explained – and he most definitely meant it – Will’s emotional and physical needs being met were far more paramount to his mental health than Hannibal’s needs were to his own. 

“Do-Do you think I should stop before I totally fuck everything up?” asked Will, feeling immersed in self-doubt. 

“Do you think you can you continue to live here without a physical relationship?” wondered Hannibal.

Will imagined attempting to live in this house, cut off and alone, with nowhere to go and no one to turn to. “No,” he admitted. He couldn’t do it. He’d fall apart.

“Then don't,” he whispered. Hannibal’s fingers gently and delicately ran along Will's face – across his brow, down the bridge of his nose, tracing his cheek as he softly parted Will’s lips with his thumb. 

Will hesitantly crept closer to the man, carefully avoiding contact with Hannibal’s skin, for fear that he had completely misunderstood their exchange in his unsettled state. His breath was ragged and shallow and he was wholeheartedly regretting not downing more cognac before entering the room. Hannibal watched him meticulously, staring patiently at Will’s mouth. A disconcerting smile deliberately crept across Hannibal’s lips, and Will briefly grew uncertain of this entire agreement.

“What?” he whispered, hovering over Hannibal’s face.

“I have to confess,” he admitted, faintly breathing against Will’s cheek, “I have a vested interest in what we’re about to do.”

Will furrowed his brows, questionably eyeing the man. “And what’s your interest exactly?” he panted, as he cautiously ran his hand up Hannibal’s naked arm.

Hannibal craned his neck to just barely graze Will’s ear and whispered, “I’ve been exceedingly curious to find out just what you taste like, Will.”

Will’s breath faltered, softly gasping at the comment as his lips converged with the soft salty skin of Hannibal’s neck. He kissed and sucked along his jaw, enraptured with the man now at his apparent mercy.

Hannibal tightly gripped a handful of Will’s hair, bringing the man’s mouth to his own appetent lips. His hand wandered beneath Will’s shirt, exploring the flesh of his back as he felt the man melt into his chest in the hot humid summer air. Hannibal smugly grinned against Will’s skin, thoroughly enjoying his utterly sadistic euphoria.


	22. Fever of his Pride

Will awoke alone in Hannibal’s bed, sore and naked. His tense muscles ached and the skin of his upper body abnormally stung with every movement. His throat was dry and burned from a long night of heavy breaths and moans. He slowly sat up and looked around the room, now seeing it in the daylight. The man’s bedroom appeared just as opulent as his own. Though not decidedly French, the ambiance certainly exuded extravagance. The tall windows along the western wall were open, and a warm breeze rustled the long, embossed gray drapes. The air flowing across his face temporarily relaxed Will before he painfully noted a throb along the top of his head. He reached up and felt a tender, flat knob on his skull. It was sore and pulsing. He looked behind him at the black wooden headboard with a thick filigree ledge along the top. He ran his hand along it, and faintly recalled cracking his head against it as he …  _ oh god  _ ... he remembered. The entire night with Hannibal came flooding back to him. The groping, the biting, the pulling of hair. He briefly remembered Hannibal pinning his hands behind his back as he fell into the soft, luxurious pillows that were supposed to stay along that headboard. They were now piled all over the room. He glanced down at the dried opaque residue covering his chest and stomach.  _ Oh … shit … _

Distracting himself from these humiliating memories so as not to cringe himself to death, he continued to look around the room. High built-in bookcases occupied the areas between the windows and were filled with books and an assortment of 14th century Italian pottery. He momentarily wondered where this man obtained such wealth, when his speculation was interrupted by a knock at the door. Will temporarily froze, not entirely sure what to do. Deciding that discretion was fairly useless at this point, he covered his lap with the sheet and welcomed him in.

_ Anouk _ quietly entered, carefully carrying a tray of food and water. She gracefully set the tray on the black recamier at the foot of the bed. His eyes widened with shock, but Will remained completely still as though staying motionless would make him invisible – perhaps she wouldn’t notice him.

“Good afternoon, Will,” she said, glancing at him with a coy smile. The man’s insides twisted into knots. She quickly removed a glass bottle of water and a drinking glass from the tray and set them on the nightstand closest to Will. He stared at her with a new, refreshing sort of embarrassment – a type he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt before. What was this? Unrelenting shame? Crippling indignity? As the paralyzing humiliation spread across his face, he noticed her cringing at him apologetically. “I don’t mean to embarrass you! I am so sorry!” she apologised. “Hannibal thought you may wake up hungry after, um … so he asked me to make you some lunch.” She nervously chuckled and the sound sent Will to an even darker place in his mind – a damp, dark hole which his subconscious was rapidly attempting to fill – with him still paralyzed within it.

He grimaced and cleared his throat. “That was …  _ thoughtful _ …,” he noted. “Wait, uh, lunch? What time is it?” he asked, rapidly searching for his phone which he now realized he had left in his room.

“About one-thirty in the afternoon,” she said cheerily. “Cold meats and cheeses all right with you?”

“One-thirty?! Where’s Aksel?” worried Will, beginning to panic and getting out of bed with the sheet still wrapped around him.

Anouk smiled and waved her hand to stop him. “He is fine! He woke up around nine and Hannibal made him breakfast before he left. He and I have been playing. He’s watching a movie downstairs.” 

“Oh,” sighed Will, feeling a bit unneeded. “Where is, um, Hannibal?” he asked, clearing his throat again.

“He had to leave for Paris this morning. He has a lecture to give at l'École,” she said smiling. Will stared at her, unblinking. “École Normale Supérieure? The university? He will be back this evening.”

“Um, ok?” 

“Would you like me to bring you some clothing?” she asked, suppressing a smile.

“Unnecessary,” he blurted. “Well, no ... I mean, it’s not like I don’t  _ need _ clothes, I just don’t need you to get me any,” he rambled awkwardly, bumbling over his words. “And I don’t even think I have any clean clothes, so ...” he cringed.  _ That was very on point, Will. Well done _ , he berated himself.

“Actually... Hannibal asked me to clean your room this morning,” she said wincing, “I hope that was ok? He told me it was ok with you.”

“Oh, well... um, yeah. I guess it’s ok.” This whole exchange needed to end. Now. Will was still naked and crusted with  _ someone’s _ cum – he flinched, remembering – and he was now standing in front of a very bright and very open window, draped in what he felt must be the  _ thinnest _ bed sheet in France. Anouk had now picked through his disgracefully filthy bedroom, and it was completely and totally,  _ painstakingly _ obvious that he and Hannibal did a great deal more than just  _ sleep _ together.

“Thank you for the food, which is fine. I’d like to get dressed ... please,” he insisted, staring at the floor.

“Of course!” she exclaimed, flustered and heading to the door. “I will be downstairs with Aksel.” She promptly left, closing the door behind her.

_“Wonderful,”_ he said to himself. “Yeah, _this_ is good. I’m _happy_ with this,” he sarcastically moaned with a sigh. He quickly dropped the sheet to the floor and began scouring the room for his clothes. _This is fine. I’m good. I’m really not going to freak out about this at all … Not at all._ He felt a sudden twinge along his neck and reached up to feel the skin. Dried flakes of blood stuck to his clammy hands, and his fingers traced the very distinct outlines of teeth marks along his neck and shoulder. _Fucking Hannibal ..._ he thought angrily, before the phrase made him flinch, feeling mortified once again.


	23. Thou Accursed Wolf

“Who’s it from, bud?” asked Will, peering over Aksel’s shoulder. Hannibal, Anouk, Will, and Aksel were gathered on the patio at the chateau, enjoying miniature strawberry Charlottes, the adults adoringly watching Aksel open his small pile of gifts for his birthday. He was excitedly clutching one as he sat in his father’s lap.

“Anouk?” the boy guessed, studying the elegantly swirled letters on the tag. Before his Papa could confirm or deny his assumption, the boy tore into the gift. “A movie!” he yelled, holding up a DVD. “Can we watch it now?” he asked, sliding off Will’s lap to go inside.

“Hey Aks, you only have one left. Then we can all go in, okay?” He handed him his last gift, which happened to be from Hannibal. “What do you say to Anouk?”

“Thank you!” he said, hopping over to give her a hug. “Can we watch it in the tent tonight too?” he grinned.

“We absolutely _can_ watch it tonight, _mon trésor!_ It’s one of my very favorites. It’s about a sweet little rat who can cook!” she said, smiling and hugging the boy. Anouk and Aksel had created a rather elaborate tent in the corner of Anouk’s room. The gauzy cream-colored structure had been erected as a fun surprise for the boy on Will’s birthday. Aksel was now spending a great deal of time in Anouk’s room. She doted on him night and day as she was so enamored with the inquisitive little boy. They read stories, watched movies, and cuddled with pillows and blankets, gazing up at the string lights that lined the inside. It was a beautiful respite for Aksel when he felt anxiety prone, and Will was eternally grateful for Anouk’s kindness and generosity in allowing the boy to slowly recuperate within the comfort of their small safe space.

Aksel wandered back to Will and opened his final gift. “An apron?” he asked, looking at Hannibal.

“And a toque,” smiled Hannibal, placing the chef’s hat on the boy’s head. “If you keep helping me in the kitchen, you’ll need the proper attire,” he said, grinning at Aksel.

“Thank you!” he beamed, giving Hannibal a hug around the neck.

Will was about to thank everyone when his phone began to ring. He excused himself to the front porch when he saw Tonny’s name appear on the screen. Finally secluded, he answered his phone. “Hey, Tonny.”

 _“Will,”_ he responded, pausing, _“I wasn’t sure you’d pick up.”_

“What do you need, Tonny?” sighed Will, peering over the hedgerow to check on Aksel. “We’re celebrating Aksel’s birthday.”

 _“Oh, yeah, that’s this weekend …,”_ he remembered, woefully missing his son. _“Can you tell him … ?”_

“I’ll tell him,” interrupted Will, hoping to get back to Aksel as quickly as possible. “Did you need something?” he asked, anxiously rubbing his forehead with his hands.

 _“I just wanted to ask you not to bring him up here,”_ he mumbled, his voice quivering.

“What do you mean?” scoffed Will, objecting to his suggestion. “He hasn’t seen you since we brought him home. Hell, _I_ haven’t seen you. He’s asking about you. We already have the plane tickets. We’re coming.”

_“I can’t see him like this, Will.”_

“Tonny, I’ve already explained it to him. He knows what to expect.” Will sighed with frustration.

 _“Will, he can’t see me like this. My face … I’m really fucked up,”_ he admitted, his voice still shaking with anxiety.

“Fucked up? What happened?” worried Will, growing concerned by the fear in Tonny’s voice.

 _“I got moved to a new block because I keep getting the shit beat outta me. I don’t want Aksel to see me like this. I got black eyes, a broken nose – I just can’t see him, Will,”_ he pleaded.

“Ok. Ok, I understand … ” he relented. He could hear the panic in Tonny’s voice and it was terrifying. “What’s going on, Tonny? Why are you getting attacked?”

 _“I don’t know, Will,”_ he sighed, choking up. _“I think Frank may have pissed off his dealer again or some shit … They all think I got something to do with him disappearing. Fuck, I_ – _I don’t know.”_ His voice quivered with fear. _“Frank used to deal for a bastard named Milo. One of his goddamn thug assholes kicked me in the fucking teeth a couple months ago. Bitched up my eye really bad,”_ he whimpered.

Will cringed and covered his mouth with his hand. “Jesus, Tonny, why didn’t you tell me this was happening?”

_“You were dealing with Charlotte. I thought … I could handle it.”_

“Why aren’t the guards stopping it?”

 _“I don’t think they can …”_ he admitted, sniffling and swallowing back his sobs. _“It happens fucking fast. I only leave my room to go to work now because I keep getting jumped in the halls.”_ Tonny’s voice cracked as he started to cry, _“I don’t know how much more I can take … I got a broken rib, Will, and my hands are all fucked up,”_ he wept into the phone. _“And my trial’s in a couple weeks, and I’m really fucking scared to still be in here. I can’t fucking do another fifteen years, Will. I can’t.”_ The man was sobbing into the phone and Will’s heart stuttered in pain with every gasp.

“Okay … okay, Tonny, um … I’ll call the lawyers. I’ll find out about the trial and what we can do about getting you moved – maybe to a new prison.” He had no idea what he was supposed to do to help him. He wanted to go to him, to hold the sobbing, terrified man, but it wasn’t that simple. Tonny was thousands of miles away and Aksel refused to be left alone without his father.

Tonny quietly cried, attempting to stifle the sound. He eventually regained a modicum of composure before he continued. “ _Okay,”_ he sighed, drained and despondent. _“I just wish I knew what the fuck was going on. I’m so fucking scared, Will, I don’t know what to do. I feel like I’m losing it,”_ he choked out.

“It’ll be ok, Tonny. I’ll call the lawyer and get back to you. Just stay calm, okay?”

Tonny paused and deeply inhaled to stabilize his voice. _“Okay, Will.”_

Will silently lingered, debating whether he should even offer, when he relented – “Do … do you want to talk to Aksel?” he asked hesitantly.

Tonny huffed a hopeful gasp of anticipation. “Um, yeah, ok,” he said, anxiously smiling. He straightened up in his bed and tried to repress his agitated tone. He breathed deeply to slow his shaking voice, and his knee endlessly bounced with excitement while he waited. _My boy,_  he thought. _We’ll talk. I’ll get to hear him. God, I need to hear him so bad._

Will jogged back to the now-empty patio, searching for his son. He ran inside and saw the group gathered in the living room. He stopped and sighed, peering into the intimate moment before him. They were all watching the movie, Aksel comfortably lying on the couch, his head in Anouk’s lap. Hannibal sat at his feet, his arm across the back of the couch, watching the child and smiling at the boy’s comments about rats and France and cooking. Anouk gently stroked Aksel’s hair as he lay giggling and pointing at the television.

Phone calls with Tonny always ended in uncontrollable tears for the child. Aksel would be flooded with memories and denied his hopes to see his father. A three-minute conversation with Tonny would leave Aksel completely inconsolable, and Will would spend hours picking up the fractured pieces of his child. He imagined himself tearing the child away from this moment of happiness just to speak briefly with the father he wasn’t allowed to see. _Not today,_   he thought. _I just can’t do it to him today._

Will rambled aimlessly back outside onto the porch, brokenhearted that he now had to deny Tonny the comfort of his son’s voice. “I’m so sorry, Tonny, he’s … busy,” he whispered into the phone. Will’s mind was reeling with thoughts of how he was going to break the news to Aksel that they weren’t flying to Denmark next week, when he remembered the more pressing matter of figuring out a way to protect Tonny with a prison transfer. What was he supposed to say to his lawyer when he called? He suddenly grew anxious and flustered with the renewed momentum of his next task. “And I should probably go too,” he continued, “I need to call the lawyer before his office closes.”

Tonny paused in shock, devastated. The wet, sobbing desperation was rapidly evaporating from his body. He stared blankly at the wall of his room, his chest throbbing with grief. “Okay, Will,” he quivered. Tonny heard the phone disconnect and his hand fell from his ear. He painfully watched as his mind and body split and shattered, breaking him into thousands of sharp and jagged pieces. As the splintering fragments of his soul clinked and bounced off the floor, he found himself unable and unwilling to gather them back up on his own. He had been thoroughly and completely discarded, and the hole in his chest that should have held his heart was filling with the torrid flames of an all-consuming and violent rage.


	24. Great Grief Seized my Heart

“So, wait, I don’t understand, he was found … _guilty?”_

It was late in the evening and Will had spent the entire day on the phone. But this – _this_ was the phone call he had been fearing for months, and it was the brutal truth he had been denying the entire time. Will’s heart sank deeper into his chest than he thought physically possible. Despondent, he slumped into the couch in the drawing room, still holding the phone and shaking his head in disbelief. _This is not happening. What the fuck is happening? Who the hell is after him?_

“Can, um, can you explain how the c-city court and the high court differ again?” He heard the response, but could barely listen through his shock. _This was not how this was supposed to end. This can’t be how it ends._ “Okay … well what does this mean for him, then?” He felt utterly devastated, leaving only his raw anger. _You stupid fucking bastards! How could you be such incompetent fucking professionals?! How did you let this happen?_ “You keep saying that … right,” he rasped, choking back the bitterness in his throat.

“It’s looking like _what?_ Can y-you repeat that?” He couldn’t maintain his focus as he listened to the lawyer discuss Tonny’s possible sentences. _How could he be found guilty? Why is this happening? Who did this?_

“What about my prison transfer request?” he asked, his voice still shaking. He begged for the universe to allow him to protect Tonny, even if it was only in this miniscule way. “Oh, okay,” _Denied_. _Oh god …_ “I got a call about my early release submission – it was accepted – is-is that correct?” It was correct, but it wouldn’t matter with fifteen additional years tacked onto Tonny’s sentence. Will’s only success was still an abject failure. “What does all this mean if Tonny’s verdict is verified?” _Not good._ “Ok, well, w-what if it’s overturned?” _Not fucking optimistic? Those fucking pieces of shit._ “How soon would we know?” _Quickly? What the fuck does that mean? Tomorrow – next week – next month?_ “Okay, um … thank you.” _Fuck, no. This isn’t happening. This is not fucking happening._

Will hung up the phone, sick and lifeless, shivering with despair. How had it come to this? Tonny was gone – to be locked away for more than a decade. _Fifteen fucking years_. What was he supposed to feel? Lost? Scared? When should he mourn? _Is that now? He’s not dead. What do I do? What am I supposed to feel? Why can’t he be here? Why did they take him? This isn’t fair._ He had survived this long on hope, but now there was no hope left. He leaned forward and held his face in his hands and wept. Grief filled him as his mind attempted to wrap itself around this horrific injustice. _How the hell had this happened?_ They were dead. _How are they dead? Why were they dead?_ He was frightened by all the unknowns.

“Will?” softly asked Hannibal, noticing the man sitting in near darkness.

Will looked up, peering through his puffy red eyes to see Hannibal standing in the doorway, “Yeah?” he sniffed through tears. He attempted but failed to compose himself as he averted his eyes back to the floor. He didn’t want to look like a sniveling child in front of Hannibal.  

“Are you all right?” Hannibal sat down on the couch next to Will and studied what little he could see of the man’s hanging face.

“No,” he bluntly declared. “What the  _fuck_ is going on?!” he screamed and rapidly covered his mouth – it was late, and the last thing he needed was to wake up Aksel and Anouk. Consciously lowering his voice through his rage, he explained. “I was on the phone with that cock-sucking lawyer. He tells me that the two witnesses in Tonny’s case were just fucking ... _murdered?”_ He could barely say it. He turned his face, distorted with grief and confusion, toward Hannibal as though hoping for an explanation. “What the _fuck_ is going on, Hannibal?! First Charlotte and her mother, and now this?” Will clenched his eyes and clutched his forehead as a sickening, painful throb erupted inside his skull. He whimpered in pain and his mind raced with what he assumed were rational thoughts. He was calculating times and distances, and attempting to decipher some hidden meaning behind all of this.

“It is strange, Will,” Hannibal admitted. “What did your lawyer say?”

Will huffed out an exhausted sigh and sat up, attempting to compose himself. “They had some preliminary trial for Tonny. They already had the witness testimony, but with them dead now, it’s all fucked up – I have no idea,” he scoffed, rubbing his stiff neck. “They’ve already found him guilty – fifteen years, Hannibal – _oh god._ ” The realization – or more specifically, speaking the words aloud – caused Will to break down and sob into his hands again. “How can they find him guilty without a fucking trial?! This fucking court system!” Will stood up, a mess of anger and denial, and starting pacing the room. His mind raced with rage-filled plots to destroy anyone and everyone who dares to come near him.

After several gut-wrenching minutes, he was finally able to continue, articulating through his tears. “Tonny basically defends himself against a fucked up, abusive, _criminal_ father, and they can just destroy his life for it?! How is that justice?” He covered his mouth with his hand and closed his eyes, consciously forcing himself to stay on his feet. “How am I going to tell Aksel?” he asked himself aloud. He straightened up and wiped back his tears. “And these goddamn _deaths.”_ He grew serious, appearing to recompose himself, and approached Hannibal, his eyes now full of icy rage. “I know who’s behind it, Hannibal. It’s the fucking _Ripper!”_ He turned away suddenly and sprinted past Hannibal to the staircase that led up to his room. Moments later he returned, running back down the stairs with a notebook. He fell back down on the couch next to Hannibal and flipped it open. Hannibal looked on as Will leafed through pages filled with lists, dates, facts, descriptions of scenes, newspaper clippings, and a myriad of other information on Charlotte and her mother. _When had he made this?_ Hannibal wondered, a tad shocked yet mildly impressed by his unwavering dedication.

Will held up his finger, his eyes piercing Hannibal’s, as his mind focused on the case. “Now, I don’t have much information on these new deaths. Obviously I just fucking found out about them. But what I _do_ have is so goddamn obvious, Hannibal. Look.” He was pointing at a timeline he had established, and a list of wounds – information the lawyer had shared with him after he had spoken with the police.

“They were fucking _crucified,_  Hannibal. _Crucified,_ ” he repeated in a near whisper. “I wish I had the crime scene photos, _fuck._  And Charlotte was missing her arms and several organs. _Missing organs!_ Sound like anyone we know?” He had stood up and was again pacing, his eyes shut, rubbing the edge of the closed notebook against his chin. His mind was an emotional dumping ground. He imagined Charlotte opening the door to a stranger and inviting him in. He stood in the room as the Ripper drugged his son. He listened to Charlotte’s last thoughts as a knife gutted her mother right in front of her. He paced and stumbled in his head, focusing on the mirror in the hall behind the front door of Charlotte’s apartment. _Who was in that mirror? Who did she open that door to_ – _and why?_ He stopped suddenly, opening his eyes and stared at Hannibal. _No idea,_ he thought, shaking his head. He continued pacing. “And the cave allegory,” he added, turning around, “Did you know the entire apartment was empty?” Will stopped just in front of Hannibal, whispering as he drew his face nearer to him, “How the _fuck_ did he do that? How the _fuck_ did he empty an entire fucking apartment of all of its shit?” He began to raise his voice. “A-And with Aksel drugged a few feet away? Jesus christ ... Did he fucking _follow_ me here? I gotta call Jack …” he rambled, turning to look for his phone, which he swore he just had in his hand, “Where the hell?” he scoffed, becoming irate and now frantically picking up and tossing throw blankets and pillows all over the floor.

“Will, calm down. Don’t call Jack.” insisted Hannibal, standing up, “You are practically incoherent,” he argued, holding up his hands. “Why don’t you just sit and calm down, or maybe come upstairs with me and try to get some sleep?”

“Sleep?! I’m not fucking _sleeping,_ Hannibal. I have to pack. I’m flying to Copenhagen tomorrow,” Will asserted, as he continued his search for his phone under the couch.

“Why?” questioned Hannibal, eyeing him suspiciously.

“I’m going to talk to the Chief Superintendent in charge of the four murders. I want to see the crime scene photos,” explained Will, pulling a crumpled coloring book and a pair of DVDs out from under the couch. “Where the _fuck’s_ my goddamn phone?” he muttered.

“Will, do you hear yourself? They aren’t going to _give_ you the case files. You’re not associated with the FBI anymore – not that they have any jurisdiction here, anyway.” He was growing impatient and frustrated with Will’s behavior. “Compose yourself, Will,” he warned.

“I have to try, Hannibal. And if I can prove the Ripper’s in Europe, Jack might be able to swing some arrangement where I can assist the Danish team here,” he insisted as he stood up, his eyes still sweeping the room for his phone.

“Will, this is ludicrous,” repeated Hannibal. “You need to stop this. I’m becoming concerned about your mental state.” Hannibal walked to Will, wrapping his arms around him. Will sighed and leaned into him, but his eyes continued scanning the tables around the room.

“I can’t just do _nothing_ , Hannibal,” he whispered, as he slowly relaxed. “If I can’t help Tonny anymore, the least I can do is catch this guy. He’s egging me on now!”

“Will, the Ripper’s not here. It’s all in your head.” He pulled Will into his shoulder and calmly stroked his hair. “You’re imagining a scenario where you get to be the hero, Will. As unfortunate as it all is, you were unable to save Tonny. You have to accept that. Pretending the Ripper is here isn’t going to help anyone.”

 _“Four_ deaths, Hannibal,” whispered Will. He was insistent, but still leaning on the man’s shoulder. " _All_ missing organs. _All_ Ripper’s design,” he huffed, his unease growing. “All having to do with Tonny,” he hissed, struggling against Hannibal’s grasp. “The Ripper knows Tonny, Hannibal. That’s not made up – I’m not making this shit up!” He suddenly broke free, his eyes black with anger.

“Will, you are delusional. You’re grief-stricken. You need to rest and mourn your loss. Now is not the time to launch into a witch hunt! You have to think about your son, Will. He needs you now more than ever. Don’t abandon him for this. You will regret it when you’re lucid.” Hannibal was stern and maintained eye contact as Will slowly shook his head.

“I’m fucking lucid _now,_  Hannibal!” he insisted, raising his voice. His face slowly relaxed, however, as he watched Hannibal’s pupils dilate. He cocked his head and took a deep breath. “I’m lucid now,” he slowly repeated.

“Will, you’re assuming the Ripper is personally attacking people that have wronged you in some way, but no one knows you’re here. No one cares, Will. This is insane,” he pressed, calmly and methodically. Hannibal maintained his argument and his penetrating stare.  

Will swallowed and rubbed his eyes, still angry, but calming his demeanor. “Maybe you’re right,” he admitted under duress. “I just can’t deal with all of this,” he said, throwing the notebook down on the desk. He watched Hannibal’s attention follow the notebook, and Will narrowed his eyes in suspicion. He inhaled a hissing breath as Hannibal returned his biting gaze to him, and Will raised his eyebrows warily, wondering just why Hannibal was trying to keep him from going to the police. Was he lying? Did Hannibal believe the Ripper actually _was_ here? The two men stood, mere feet apart – unmoving, unspeaking, and studying each other intently in deafening silence. Finally, Will cleared his throat. “Losing Tonny after all we’ve been through …” He trailed off, his mind occupied with more important deductions. He put his hands on his hips and straightened his back, still staring at Hannibal. “We’ve all been through a lot,” he concluded. “It’s been a very _rough_ year for everyone, Hannibal.”

“I know it has been, Will, and I sympathize with you,” he stated calmly.

Will paused and held up his hand to stop Hannibal from continuing. “Do you?” he asked, his head cocked. “ _Do_ you sympathize with me? _Can_ you, Hannibal?” Will was now questioning Hannibal’s motives for _everything._

“What are you suggesting, Will?” he asked. Will watched as Hannibal’s jaw clenched.

Will began to deliberate. He studied in his mind every _plausible_ scenario. He imagined Hannibal meeting Tonny, only to watch his child disappoint him at every turn. He imagined the pain Hannibal had suffered by his and Tonny’s hands. “I’m suggesting,” Will declared, his patience thin, “that you actually _do_ _loathe_ Tonny, and that you’re _happy_ all this shit’s happening.”

Hannibal’s shoulders relaxed at Will’s irrelevant conclusion. “Well, you’re not wrong, Will,” he boldly admitted. He sighed and stepped towards him carefully. “Let’s discuss this tomorrow, after we’ve slept. You don’t need anything else to obsess over tonight.”

Will lowered his eyes to the floor and furrowed his brow in tired thought. When he finally relaxed his face, he slowly nodded his head in acquiescence.

Hannibal approached him and embraced him, humming a sigh against Will’s cheek. “It will be fine, Will. Let your mind rest.”

Will closed his eyes and pressed his face against his shoulder, relenting despite Hannibal’s admission. Hannibal finally felt Will nod in agreement, and they left the drawing room and ascended the stairs as though nothing, though everything, had just changed.


	25. Himself did Vengeance Take

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wouldn’t say it’s _imperative_ to have seen the Pusher Trilogy at this point, but almost all of the characters from Tonny’s world are taken directly from the trilogy (The Duke, Frank, Charlotte, Gammel, Milo, Kurt the Cunt, Ø, Gry, Radovan) and we'll be meeting almost all the people from Tonny’s past in some form or fashion in the second half of the fic. The following chapter is almost a blow-by-blow of several scenes from _Pusher II_. However, in the film, two of them have vastly different endings.

“They can’t find the Cunt … But they found some broad at his house, completely smashed up. Do you know anything about that?” asked The Duke. He was driving his black sedan down the highway, glancing back at Tonny in the rearview.

“No,” answered Tonny from the back seat. He nervously looked out the window, wondering where the hell they were going, when his father pulled the car to the side of the road.

“Are you sure?” His old man was suspicious.

Tonny eyed everything but the man in front of him. “Yes,” he insisted. His mouth dried up as he anxiously glanced around the confined space of the vehicle. The bastard always made him feel like a useless piece of trash. He nervously eyed the goon that was sitting next to him.

“Yes, you say ... but the Cunt’s gone. What do you think about that?” he asked, still staring at him in the mirror.

Tonny scoffed and shook his head. “I don’t know.”

His father, frustrated with his useless son, glanced out the car window. “The debt is yours now,” he stated flatly.

Tonny swallowed back bile as the realization of this fucked-up and unfair burden sank in. “I don’t have any money,” he admitted, his throat dry and rough. He thought he was going to puke.

“You don’t?” asked his father. “What are you gonna do about that?” As though Tonny had a goddamn clue.

“I don’t know,” he swallowed. Sweat formed on his temples as he groped around for words. “I … I didn’t know it was you he owed the money to,” he claimed. Kurt never tells him shit.

“That so?” his father interrupted, unable to believe this pathetic excuse for a son.

“I had no idea,” he repeated.

They sat in silence. Tonny was quietly panicking in the back seat, racking his brain for any plan that could save his skin from this bastard. “What about Jeanette? Valdemar’s mother,” he clarified, swallowing back the lump in his throat. He knew his father hated his ex-wife. He knew he’d do anything to be with Valdemar. That boy was the son his fucking father never had.

His father seemed interested. “What about her?”

“If she’s giving you a hard time, I can pay her a visit.”

His father scratched his face, debating the idea. “It’s not for you,” he decided, shaking his head. He had no trust in his son. He would totally and utterly fuck this up.

“Okay …” agreed Tonny. “But if I slapped her around a bit ... it might help you and Valdemar.”

The goon in the backseat piped up. “I think he can handle it. It went all right the last time,” he said sticking up for Tonny. “The cars on the dock. That went all right.” Tonny glanced at him and chewed his lip, shocked that someone had actually fucking defended him for once.

“You know Jeanette? Have you met her?” his father asked him, still watching him in the mirror. Tonny shook his head. “Consider yourself lucky. She’s just as stupid as your mother.” Tonny grunted at the comment and glanced out the window. “Do you think you can handle it?”

Tonny eyed the back of his father’s head in shock. Would his father actually trust him to do this and forget his entire debt? Fuck yeah. He tried to calm himself. “Yeah,” he said, casually.

His father nodded. “She’s all yours.”

“Alright, I’m on it,” agreed Tonny as relief washed over him.

“Of course you’re on it,” he scoffed. “She works at the Cunt’s whore house ... We’ll get the bitch at the desk outta there.”

“Let’s do it. Let’s do it now,” insisted Tonny, becoming anxious.

There was a long pause. His father sighed and stared back at him, “It has to be for good.” Tonny swallowed and nodded. “You understand? She has to die. The bitch is not taking my son from me.” Tonny continued to nod, apprehensively looking at the floor. “Okay. Good.” His father pulled back out into traffic and took off down the road. Tonny chewed his tongue and rubbed his face, edgy but excited about what he had just agreed to do.

* * *

Fuck, he _hated_ those gaudy fucking lights of whore houses. They always bathed the walls in bloody red light that made him feel like they were trying to hide something disgusting. He’d told Jeanette he wanted a blowjob and the woman had left him to get undressed and get out his money. Tonny was sitting nervously on the edge of the bed, staring at himself in the mirrors that lined the bottom half of the wall. He loved watching himself fuck people in mirrors – just pounding the shit out of them from behind. It was another habit he’d probably picked up because every house around here had them.

He inhaled a deep, uneven breath as he nervously waited for the whore to return. He wanted to get this shit over with. A CD player on the floor caught his attention and he leaned down and violently ripped the extension cord out of the wall, wrapping it around both his hands. His knee bounced nervously as he waited. _Where the fuck is she?_ He scratched his shaved head. He fucking hated waiting. A voice outside the door, made him grow wary, so he let go of half the cord and draped it down his leg, hiding it from sight.

Jeanette finally returned, still in her black and white striped leather whatever-the-fuck-it-was and smiled at him through the deep red obscuring light. “You didn’t undress,” she noticed, smiling at him. She sat down next to him and ran her hand up his thigh. “Did you want me to do that for you?” she asked, fondling the front of Tonny’s pants.

“No,” he snapped, fingering the cord in his hidden hand. He backed away from her and shifted his weight so he could kneel on the bed. The cord remained hidden behind him. “Turn around. I want to see your back,” he ordered.

The whore wasn’t exactly thrilled about being barked at. “Money first,” she demanded, crossing her legs, still seated on the edge of the bed.

Tonny didn’t have shit. He reached for his pocket anyway, pretending to grope around for cash. As Jeanette’s attention turned to her nails, Tonny lunged at her back, wrapping the extension cord tightly around her neck, violently pulling her against his chest. She struggled and thrashed, clawing at her throat. He fought to keep control of her thrashing body, unprepared for a human’s natural instinct to survive. She twisted and pulled, flailing her arms in the air, attempting to claw and punch Tonny’s face. He clenched his eyes and turned away as her nails gouged into his skin, drawing blood and tearing his flesh. He strengthened his grip on the cord wrapped around his fists and yanked it tightly back, causing her skull to crush into his shoulder. When he finally peered through the slits of his eyes, he saw himself staring back in the mirror. He was fixated on his lips, watching them faintly count.

 _One_ … her feet slipped and kicked at the bed, her hands wrenching and digging at his shirt … _two_ …  she gasped for air, clawing like a rabid animal at her throat … _three_ … her face grew red, her lips a sickly shade of blue as she choked … _four_ … his body tensed, her throat slowly collapsing under the pressure … _five_ …  her lips parted with a gag, eyes rolled back, and he ignored her in favor of his own blank reflection … _six_ … hands continued pawing, failing to relieve the pressure, falling limp at her sides …  _seven_ … dangling arms twitched as her body grew heavy against his chest … _eight_ …  legs buckled below her, and he lowered her back onto the bed … _nine_ ... eyes, gray and dull, lifeless …  _ten_ … the room, though still and red, echoed with only his panting breaths and beating heart.

* * *

He slowly climbed the steps to the office in the loft over the garage. Time slowed and his stomach churned with his thoughts of what he’d just done to that whore. He was hot, sweaty, and nauseated, as more adrenaline flooded his body. He entered the office and stood across from his father, who sat alone on the couch. He stared at the man, nervously shifting his weight on his feet, wondering what stream of insults he was about to face. Did he take too long? Was he not supposed to get cut up? Did he change his fucking mind?

“So?” The Duke asked. Tonny hummed and nodded. “That’s it? Did it go okay?” Tonny stepped back nervously, unwilling to answer just yet. “Do you want a drink?” his father offered.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he agreed and sat down next to him on the couch. His father set out two glasses, and Tonny filled them both. He gulped his quickly in an attempt to calm his shaking hands with an alcoholic buzz.

“Was it rough?” his father asked, noting the bloody scratches on Tonny’s cheek.

Tonny bit his lip and looked him in the eye. Fuck yeah, it was rough. Did the man not see his fucking face? “No,” he said, ignoring his pain.

“Did she fight?”

“Yeah, but …” he trailed off. “I handled it.”

His father smiled at him and refilled his glass. “You did good, Tonny.”

Tonny grinned at him and picked up his drink. Damn right, he did good. He fucking ruled. He gulped another mouthful of liquor and relaxed back on the couch. “So,” he began anxiously, and his father looked over at him. “My debt?”

His father smiled and patted Tonny’s knee. “All squared away, Tonny.”

Tonny smirked at him, relief filling him to his core. “Do I have a job here?” he asked, tilting his head.

His father grinned, “Of course you do. You’re my son.”

“Tonny?” the man said.

“Yeah?” he replied, shaking his head. His father was no longer on the couch next to him.

“Tonny?” a voice echoed.

He looked around for his father as the room fell away in huge crumbling pieces.

“Are you ok?”

Tonny’s eyes snapped open and he gasped.

“Are you ok, Tonny?” asked his lawyer. "Should I get a guard?" Tonny’s eyes slowly focused on the man’s face. He was still searching for his father in the barren room. “I understand what a shock this must be to you. I want you to understand that we are working on appealing this decision, ok?”

“What?” scoffed Tonny, confused and glancing around the small meeting room inside the prison.

“I know. But like I said, it was just a preliminary trial. I’m working on the appeal and we have a new lawyer on the team. Literally signed on to your case this morning if you can believe it. And he’s a _really_ influential lawyer, Tonny, I think he golfs with the damn _judge_ ,” the man laughed, “You’ve got to have some friends in pretty high places to swing that, man. And jesus, they must be loaded.”

Tonny was staring off into space, barely listening, and not really caring. _Guilty._ He was found guilty. Well, he _knew_ he was guilty of killing his father – but fuck. _Fifteen years?_ _Holy shit,_ he thought. He couldn’t survive this. He knew he couldn’t. The beatings alone would kill him. He had already spent more time in the infirmary than in his room.

He crossed his arms over the table and laid down his head. Why wouldn’t the world just fucking kill him now? Why did the universe prolong his goddamn suffering? He hated his dead fucking father – He loathed Hannibal – And Will – Will, he wanted to strangle over and over again. No – No. He wanted to drop Will in a fucking hole – a deep, water-filled hole. He wanted to watch him drown slowly, alone and terrified. He wanted him to feel the misery of abandonment and the impending horror of a death sentence. He wished for the prison – _this mother-fucking prison_ – to burn to the ground, and for the people that surrounded him to stoke its raging flames.

Tonny stood up and paced the room, holding his head in his hands. He was a caged bull and he yearned to kill something – _anything._ He wanted to feel that power again. He stopped in front of his chair and violently kicked it, sending it hurtling into the corner. He laced his white-knuckled fingers and placed them on the back of his head, partially in an attempt to not physically assault the only other man in the room, and partially because he half-expected a guard to restrain him after the outburst. He may have been a caged bull, but he was also an addicted bull, falling back to old habits and long-term conditioning.

His lawyer remained still, staring at him, quietly shifting the papers he had brought for Tonny to examine. “Mr. Holm?” he said meekly before clearing his throat. “Do you want me to come back later?”

“No,” he growled, “I want this shit over with. – I want rid of _all_ of you,” he threatened, staring and gritting his teeth menacingly.

His lawyer swallowed back his anxiety and attempted to proceed. “Well, the nature of your case is most definitely, uh, unique, Mr. Holm. I’m not going to sugar-coat it, though. Despite the criminal activity that seems to be following your case, the charges still stand against you, and they are, as I said earlier, very serious.” He nervously watched Tonny pace and crack his neck. “Do you think you could, uh, sit down?”

Tonny glared down at the man, sneering. “Why?” he barked.

“Well, you’re making me nervous,” he stated bluntly. “And frankly I’d like to leave this room in one piece.”

Tonny shook his head, but slowly picked up his chair from the corner. He righted it and sat down at the table. “The only person that needs to fear me is Will _fucking_ Graham,” he sneered, leaning towards the table. The man shrank away from him defensively. Tonny noticed his fearful behavior and inhaled a deep breath to try to calm down. He slowly leaned back in his chair and relaxed his shoulders as he stared down at the hands fidgeting in his lap.

The lawyer furrowed his brow, confused. “Oh,” he began, “I thought you were his … husband or something,” he slowly admitted. Tonny glared at him, his eyes raging like a bottomless pit of hellfire. The man's eyes immediately widened, realizing he may have misspoken and he shifted his attention to the papers on the table. “Clearly it’s all far more complicated than that. I apologize.” He was nervous and sweating, “This is my first criminal case, so I’m sorry if I stepped out of line there,” he gulped. “Please don’t kill me?” he anxiously joked.

Tonny gazed at him, his mind drifting out of the room and into a world of possibilities. _What if?_ he thought. _What if I had killed that fucking whore five years ago instead of pussying out?_ _None of this would have happened._ He assumed he never would have been sentenced to prison. He would be happy, and working for his father here in Denmark. And he would be free from that son-of-a-bitch who deserted him in this hell-hole. He sighed as he disparagingly looked down at the pile of papers he was expected to sift through, wishing nothing more than to get the fuck back to his dungeon to shoot up.

Tonny glanced up at the clock on the wall. Visiting hours were over in another hour and twenty-four minutes.

In exactly one hour and twenty-four minutes, he was back in his cell getting high.


	26. Without his Fault

“Do you want to talk about last night?” asked Will, staring up at the ceiling of Hannibal’s bedroom.

It was seven in the morning, and Hannibal was sitting up in bed, casually sifting through a folder of material he was to present that evening at a museum exhibit in Paris. “Which part of last night?” he replied, still focused on his papers.

“The discussion about Tonny,” reminded Will, looking over at him. He was a little perturbed that he didn’t know to what he was referring.

“What discussion?” he goaded, still shuffling through archival photographs.

 _“Jesus,_ Hannibal. You _hating_ Tonny. Can we talk about that?” he demanded, now seething.

He raised his eyebrows and looked incredulously at Will. “You want to discuss this _now?”_

“Yeah! You didn’t want to last night, and now it’s morning.”

Hannibal momentarily set down his folder. “There really isn’t anything more to discuss, Will. You should already know how I feel about him.”

“Yeah, but I never thought you’d _revel_ in the fact that he’s now …,” Will paused and swallowed, “stuck in prison for _fifteen more_ years.” Will pushed down his grief, sitting up in the bed.

“I’m not _reveling,_ Will. I simply believe justice was served. And why does it matter to you? You seem to have moved on quickly enough.” He dismissively cleared his throat before returning his attention to the photos.

Will glared at the side of Hannibal’s head, fuming. “And what the _hell_ is that supposed to mean?”

Hannibal sighed with contempt and glanced at him. “Will, you know exactly what I mean,” he declared. Will’s look of utter shock at his accusation made Hannibal want to say it aloud even more. “You just came to bed with me under the impression I was celebrating Tonny’s verdict. You mourn quickly – That’s all I mean.” With that, he was back to shuffling through more documents.

“You goddamn _bastard,”_ sneered Will. “That’s … That’s _not_ what happened, and you fucking know it!”

“Okay, Will,” dismissed Hannibal as he checked his watch on the nightstand. “If you would like to enlighten me as to the truth, you are welcome to, but I’m going to shower. I’m assuming you aren’t joining me this time?” He smirked at Will, whose mouth was still agape with disgust.

 _“Fuck you,_ Hannibal!” he snapped, throwing himself back down into the bed.

Hannibal fixed his side of the blankets and organized his papers. “You’re a child, Will, you know that?”

Will flipped him off and Hannibal couldn’t help but chuckle. “See you at breakfast.” He turned around, heading to the bathroom.

As soon as the bathroom door was shut, Will sat up. _“Goddamn mother-fucking son-of-a-bitch!”_ he exclaimed to himself. _“Fuck!”_ He had intended to lead that discussion towards convincing Hannibal to lend him the cash he needed to fly to Copenhagen. He could meet with the chief and go see Tonny – if he was willing to see him – but now that opportunity was blown. _Cocky bastard_ , he thought. _No, no, the opportunity is still there. But god, he’s a fucking bastard!_

Will stood up and stormed to the bathroom door, bursting in, still incensed. He pulled open the shower door and glared at Hannibal who stood there staring back at him, shaking his head.

“Now, listen you fucking _dick._ What you just said ...,” Will’s head was so foggy with steam and rage that he could barely see straight. Of course, he was also attempting to form a succinct argument while staring at his former psychiatrist and current _amoureux_ while the man stood glaring back at him, naked, in the shower. “What you just said,” he repeated, “was rude and uncalled for, and frankly a _dick move!”_

Hannibal mockingly laughed at him. “Freud would have a field day with you, Will,” he scoffed, continuing to wash his hair. “Can this wait?”

Will was drowning in a monsoon of fury. “No! It can’t, Hannibal!” he sneered, “My relationship with Tonny is _none_ of your goddamn business, and you have no right to make outrageous judgments about how I mourn or grieve. You have no right to demean me or my actions, or draw false conclusions about how I feel about him!”

Hannibal sighed at the man. “Fair enough, Will,” he said, disregarding his argument, “Are you done?”

A barrage of icy daggers flew from Will’s eyes straight at Hannibal’s throat as he wished a swift, yet painful death upon the man. However … he still _really_ wanted to go to Copenhagen, so he swallowed his pride for just a fraction of a moment and steadied his voice. “No. Uh, _not_ done …,” he said, regretting nearly all of what he had just said, “I hate to have to ask you this, but I’d, uh, still like to fly to C-Copenhagen,” he mentioned, avoiding direct eye contact.

Hannibal scoffed, and then unsuccessfully attempted to contain his laughter.

Will stood in the shower doorway, silent, biting his lip as he awaited a response from the man laughing at him – a naked, soapy man that he had just berated was laughing at him. The humiliation was far beyond what Will had originally anticipated and, unable to take the searing embarrassment any longer, he stormed out of the bathroom, heading to his room.

 _“Mother fucker!”_ he screamed, slamming his bedroom door. He rubbed his temples and breathed, trying to calm down. He opened the balcony doors and stepped outside for fresh air, a last ditch effort to clear his painfully livid mind. He immediately gasped, floored by the beauty of the sun that was just rising over the vineyard. Far off in the distance, a blanket of mist was enveloping the rolling hills. The sky was painted blood orange, and the grapevines, long and winding, cast elongated shadows in the lush green grass between the rows. Workers peppered the fields, like tiny ants, mowing and pruning. Will’s shame, humiliation, and grief momentarily lifted as he witnessed the majesty of this landscape. An incredible exhaustion fell upon him. He was so tired of fighting. He felt that his entire life he had fought for appreciation, understanding, dignity, and respect. He sighed, attempting to let the richness of his environment penetrate his consciousness and relieve the stress of his currently enraging situation.

Deciding that what he needed was his own – _private_ – shower, he tore himself from the view and re-entered his room, locking his bedroom door. He rubbed the remaining sleep from his red and weary eyes and headed to his bathroom to relax before being forced to go downstairs. Undressing, he caught another glimpse of himself in the mirror. He didn’t look healthy. He didn’t appear happy. He was pale, mournful, and ashamed; he gritted his teeth in disgust. He stepped into the shower, the steamy air and hot water burning his skin and softening his muscled, and he found himself, once again, reflective and nostalgic for a life that felt so far out of his grasp it was like a dream.

The hot, wet air filled his lungs, thickening his shallow breath, and he suddenly found himself transported back in time. Thoughts of Tonny flooded his grieving mind so vividly that he groaned and choked in pain as a profound ache erupted through his chest like an icy burn. He closed his eyes to ease the pain, slowly recalling a sensation creep across his sullen face. He was grinning in his mind, and shouting, slipping in a muddy tub, his arm and leg bound in casts as Tonny laughed and mercilessly teased him. Playful kisses wandered across his shoulder, sending a provocative and welcome shudder down his spine. In his mind, tepid droplets quickly drenched his clothing as he straddled Tonny’s hips, joyfully gazing down at the man’s salacious grin. Tonny’s eyes were bright and excited, lustfully staring up at him as Will slowly removed and tossed aside his soaked and heavy clothes. He remembered thawing their icy hands and feet in a scalding bath after a long evening staring up at the night sky on the frozen ground outside. Their bodies relaxed together in the warmth of the steaming water, Will studying Tonny as he slowly climb over him, the heat of the bath drowning every fear, woe, and painful thought. Tonny’s hot breath and hotter lips pressed against his neck as a blissful ecstasy washed over him, leaving his heart racing and his arms desperately aching to hold the man in his mind.

Gradually opening his eyes, still lost and alone in the dark shower at the chateau, he found the pleasure and peace brought to him by those memories to be deeply overwhelming, and now immeasurably heartbreaking. Distraught, his lungs emptied with a echoing wail as the enormity of losing Tonny crippled his body and he suddenly fell to his knees in anguish, sobbing uncontrollably under the numbing spray of stinging hot water. He reluctantly cast aside his denial and anger over his loss, and unwillingly accepted that he would no longer bask in the heat and comfort brought to him by Tonny. He’d never again awake to Tonny’s warm grin and sleepy eyes watching over him. He was certain he’d never joke, or play, or tease with another. The constant upheaval of his life had made the ground he now walked alone, treacherous and terrifying. He wanted to leave this place and never return – to lay down upon the earth and never rise – to sleep away his pain, and never wake up.

* * *

No set of stairs had ever felt longer in his life. Cringing and wincing with each step, he gritted his teeth and painfully chewed his lip. He slowly neared the kitchen, inching ever so closer to that sorry excuse for a human being. Will was still red-eyed and wet haired from his long grief-filled shower, and he was regretting so many things from the last twelve hours. As he neared the bottom step he could hear Aksel in the kitchen chatting with someone who he could only assume was that _fucking …_ _no_. He stopped. He didn’t want that rage in his mind. He didn’t want anger clouding his judgment. Those emotions fogged his head and numbed his rational thought, and he could have none of that. He needed to stay sober, sane, and level-headed if he was going to attempt to reason with Hannibal – or, indeed, catch the Ripper … _if he ever made it to Copenhagen._ He sighed.  

He slowly entered the kitchen, avoiding eye contact with Hannibal, who stood at the island. Aksel was sitting in the middle of the floor, struggling to put on his shoes. Next to him sat a mostly-eaten bowl of brown-colored rice. Will was suddenly thankful that he wouldn’t have to spend any extra time in the kitchen preparing his son’s breakfast. He faintly smiled at the boy, who only briefly acknowledged his presence before bounding out the patio door. Will side-eyed Hannibal, scooping down to retrieve his son’s bowl and set it in the sink. He would have emptied the contents in the trash, but Hannibal had shifted at the island and now stood directly in front of the trash can. _That bastard._

Will was now left in the kitchen with Hannibal, alone and unguarded. _How exciting._

The man was reading something and apparently ignoring Will’s arrival. _Arrogant prick._ Will was back on his coffee and toast diet, so he anxiously slinked around the kitchen, haphazardly gathering bread, a cup, butter, a butter knife, the entire toaster, and anything else he needed to construct his meager breakfast. He plopped it all down at the far end of the counter so he could work in relative solitude, avoiding any and all contact with Hannibal, who appeared indifferent to his existence.

Will attempted to lower his tense shoulders to no avail, and he anxiously stared into the toaster, obsessively counting the seconds until the bread would rise. His preoccupied mind kept losing count about every twenty-two seconds, and he was forced to start over. Somewhere around his thirteenth iteration of his twenty-two second set, his toast popped and he was relieved to be sure that this hellishly awkward and embarrassing situation was swiftly coming to a close. That was until he felt an arm wrap around his waist from behind. His heart raced as Hannibal’s mouth lightly grazed his neck.

Hannibal pulled Will into his chest as his nose trailed up his skin. His lips lightly hovered over his ear and Will’s heart stuttered in his chest. “Forgive me, Will,” he whispered. His voice was barely audible, and Will could feel his breathy sighs against his neck. Hannibal wrapped his other arm across Will’s chest, enveloping him in a delicate and reconciliatory embrace. Will’s body acquiesced, though his mind silently protested the man’s attempted apology.  

“Why should I forgive you?” he snapped, gripping the edge of the countertop, his knuckles white.

“I honestly didn't realize that you still grieve for him,” he admitted.

Hearing these words spoken aloud by another person forced silent, tearless sobs out of Will’s chest and he slowly hung his head, his mind giving in to the pain. _How could he not know? How could he make light of my tragedy? Is he blind? Is he incapable of feeling human emotions?_ Will was as much angry with himself as he was Hannibal. He felt deceived by his own desires, and his heart ached with his own perceived betrayal. He felt cornered, like his own sorrow had deceptively led him into an emotional trap. To say he was bitter about this entire situation would be an understatement.

“Fine, Hannibal,” he winced, “Just, get off me …,” he whispered, pulling his body away from the man.

Hannibal stepped back, his hands raised and open. “Okay, Will,” he agreed.

Will sighed and reached up to adjust his glasses, only to notice how violently his hands were shaking. He rapidly re-gripped the counter to steady them and fixated on his dry, and now cold, toast. “And don’t touch me again,” he quietly snapped. He heard Hannibal sigh behind him.

“Are you finished with our arrangement then?”

Will hesitated, not ready to cross the Rubicon just yet. He didn’t know how to answer this question. Was he mind-numbingly enraged by the man? Absolutely. Was he still feeling the sick and acrid bite of the shame knotted in his gut? Of course. But these feelings would fade, and when they did, where would he be in Hannibal’s castle if he ended their agreement? Alone and without solace. Would he be forced to harbor some ill will and resentment forever to spite him? Or should he admit to still wanting to continue, and succumb to the even greater embarrassment of admitting that Hannibal was, in some way, right about Will’s eagerness to move on from Tonny? _Oh, you manipulative bastard._ Of course now, he had ruminated for several minutes and it appeared that he was giving Hannibal the cold shoulder. He most definitely did _not_ want to appear that petty, so he turned around to face him.

“I think I’m currently _uncomfortable_ with our arrangement,” he blurted, leaning back on the counter. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked up into Hannibal’s face. “I feel _disrespected_ and _belittled,”_ he stated clearly, carefully enunciating each word. “And it’s funny, you see, because I don’t really _appreciate_ it when others treat me like that – but then again, maybe that’s just _me.”_ He sneered at Hannibal with contempt.

“I understand, Will. You’re still feeling emotional …”

“Don’t …” he snapped, interrupting Hannibal’s rebuttal. “Don’t you _dare_ patronize me,” he ordered. Still aggressively glaring at Hannibal, he stood up from the counter, correcting his weak slouch.

“May I speak, Will?” he mocked, crossing his own arms.

Will gritted his teeth and nodded, but kept his mouth shut.

“I understand you are feeling _emotional,”_ he repeated before continuing, “and you feel trapped and useless here.” His face softened and he glanced at the floor. “I did not intend to encourage any more pain, Will. The stress you are under is, I’m sure, almost insurmountable, and I’m truly sorry for my role in aggravating your grieving process.”

Will felt his jaw relax and he exhaled a long sigh. “Thank you,” he whispered, nodding.

“And to show that I harbor no animosity myself, and that I trust your judgment,” he began, retrieving a sheet of paper from his pile of documents, “I’ve booked you a flight at two o’clock to Denmark.” He held out the paper with the ticket and flight number.

Will hesitantly accepted the paper apology, his eyes darting around floor, humbled. He glanced back up to Hannibal, rubbing his tense neck as he nodded his appreciation again.

“I, personally, still don’t agree with your desire to go, but I support you and I understand why you want to do this,” he said slowly. He reached up and scratched his own neck as he watched the man continue to slowly nod. “Do you accept my apology _now,_ Will?”

Will bit his lip, thankful for not having to grovel. “I do, Hannibal,” he admitted, “And I really appreciate your trust and understanding.”

Hannibal nodded. “If you need more flight information, Anouk has it. Unfortunately, I have to go.” He brusquely turned around and gathered the folders from the island. He quickly finished his coffee and Will watched him set his cup by the sink. Will remained unmoving and unsure if he was supposed to say something, if anything.

“Thank you for making Aksel his breakfast,” he blurted.

Hannibal turned and smiled at him. _“Always_ my pleasure, Will,” he smirked, heading to the doorway.

“Oh, and good luck today,” Will called again, forcing Hannibal to turn around once more.

“Same to you, Will,” he taunted, “I have a feeling you’re going to _need_ it.” He grinned widely and promptly left.

Will furrowed his brows in suspicion. “What the _fuck_ does that mean?” he sneered to himself. _Goddamn bastard._


	27. What Crime has Thrust Him Here?

Will nervously waited in a chair directly outside the Chief Superintendent’s office at the police station in Copenhagen. Upon his arrival, the Chief’s assistant had handed Will a cup of truly terrible coffee, and he had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to do with it. He was seated in a single chair in the middle of a hallway with no appropriate place to set the scalding hot paper cup, so he was forced to endure every bitter and pungent sip in an attempt to hastily empty it. He juggled his notebook and the full cup, wondering if anyone would notice if he tossed the lidless container full of steaming coffee into the recycling bin next to the assistant’s desk – or maybe he could leave it under his chair like a landmine – or perhaps he could pour it into that plant in the corner ...

“Mr. Graham?” Will looked up, startled. The assistant was motioning for him to enter the Chief’s empty office, and he promptly did. He quickly took a seat and teetered his coffee on the edge of the desk. What was he going to say? How was he going to say it? Should he have worn nicer clothes? _Shit. Oh shit._ Yes, he should have. _Fuck._

“I look like a _fucking_ farmer,” he scoffed outloud.

“Excuse me?” boomed a stern voice behind him.

Will quickly stood and turned, holding out his hand to a tall, stoic man with silvering black hair. He had the appearance of a military man – dark gray suit, clean cut face, and shoulders back. The man looked about as impatient at Will felt, and this was rather disconcerting. “Nothing, just talking to myself,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’m Will Graham.”

The Chief firmly shook Will’s hand, “I know. My assistant told me. What can I do for you, Mr. Graham?” His English was clean and clear, only hinting at a slight Danish accent.

The Chief sat down behind his desk, and Will reclaimed his seat across from the still-steaming coffee cup before jumping right in. “You’re heading an investigation involving four very strange and ritualistic murders. Um, these particular murders are of interest to me because I’ve worked with the FBI on cases that involved strikingly similar M.O.s. I believe – though of course, this is unconfirmed – that we may be dealing with the same serial killer.”

The Chief wrinkled his forehead. _“Okay,”_ he hesitantly responded, hoping impatiently that Will would get to his point.

“Ah – so, I was hoping to confirm my suspicion by examining the crime scene photos. _Then_ I could contact the head of the Behavioral Science Unit in the US and alert him of the killer’s travels overseas.”

“What makes you believe we’re dealing with a _serial_ killer?”

“Oh, well,” Will pulled out his tattered notebook and laid it on the desk, “I was reading about these murders, and I found some of the details that were released to the press to be somewhat indicative of the serial killer that _I’m_ more familiar with …,” he opened the book, turned it around, and slid it in front of the Chief. “The, ah – organ removal – the ritualistic nature of the deaths, the somewhat theatrical display of the bodies ...”

Inspecting the mess of paper scraps, notes, and clippings – all coffee stained and almost illegible – the Chief furrowed his brows, incredulously glancing up at Will. _"Who_ did you say you were again?” he wondered.

“Will Graham.”

“And who is that?”

“Oh, I worked with FBI field agents. I consulted for them, actually. And-and I teach – er, _taught_ – at the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia.”

“But … you _no longer_ work with the FBI?”

Will cleared his throat. “Well – no, not officially, though I am on sabbatical from my teaching position. And I can still be contacted if there’s an active case with a need for my particular … skill set.”

“And what _skill set_ might that be?” asked the Chief, leaning back in his chair.

Will swallowed, “I, ah – have an innate ability to imagine and recreate crimes from the criminal’s perspective, so as to …” He carefully slowed his speech to avoid stuttering over his words, “... gain insight into motives or methods used by the killer.”

“Is that so?” asked the Chief, scratching his head. “So what are you doing in Denmark, Mr. Graham?”

Will hesitated, strumming his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Actually, I’m visiting someone, but I’m currently living outside Dijon – uh, France.”

“So, how did you find out about these murders? They were not highly publicized,” wondered the Chief. “Certainly not in France.”

“Uh – not sure, really – I just try to take note when I see something off, and uh –.”

“Well, Mr. Graham,” the Chief interrupted, attempting to end this bizarre conversation, “seeing as we already have a suspect, I don’t think your _services_ are needed here.”

“Well, I’m not really offering my _services._ Actually, I’m asking about the case.” Will suddenly felt defensive, quickening his pace to avoid another interruption. “I mean, if you call Agent Jack Crawford at the FBI – t-the _Behavioral Science Unit,_ actually – he can assure you that I could be beneficial to you and your team, and he can give you details of the American cases that have been attributed to the Ripper.”

“The _Ripper?”_ The exasperation in the Chief’s tone was becoming evident.

“The _Chesapeake_ Ripper, actually,” clarified Will.

“So, this _Chesapeake Ripper_ is – according to you – no longer killing in America, but rather in _Denmark_ … for some reason. Can you give me a reason?”

“Um, well, no – not really, anyway. Can you tell me who your suspect is?” asked Will, already knowing the answer.

The man stared blankly at Will. “Now, if you actually worked for the FBI in America, you must know I can’t give you that information unless you’re officially involved in the case.”

“I know this all must sound strange,” he scoffed, fixing his glasses, “but I assure you, I’m _not_ insane – If you could just call Jack Crawford – I have his number, uh –” Will awkwardly felt for his pocket, “he can tell you that this is a huge opportunity for the BSU to gain some footing in this _monumental_ case.”

The Chief eyed him as Will managed to pull out his phone, and he exhaled an irritated sigh, scratching his face. “I guess it can’t hurt to take his number.” Will quickly found Jack’s number and held out his phone to show the Chief. The man copied it down, and hastily excused himself from the office.

Will, now alone, glanced around the room anxiously. He imaged what this man might be like outside this stark office as he busied himself looking at diplomas on the wall, framed photos of teenage kids, the unused desk calendar, and his _awful_ cup of coffee that was now approaching room temperature. Beyond the coffee, Will observed his notebook, disheveled and still open on the desk. _I wonder if I should have cleaned that up a bit before I showed him. I hope he doesn’t think I’m normally this disorganized._ His impatience growing, and with little other material in the room to study, Will’s focus kept turning to his watch, keeping count of seconds that turned into minutes. _What’s taking so long, Jack?_ As Will was counting his fifteenth minute, the Chief returned and sat down.

“So this is certainly interesting, Mr. Graham,” he began, resting his arms on his desk, focusing intently on Will.

“Wh-What’s interesting?” he asked with some surprise, growing slightly concerned by the man’s tone.

“You seem to be in Denmark visiting, not just _someone,_ but our _prime suspect_ in this case.”

 _Oh fuck._ “What?” Will scoffed, becoming visibly agitated. “No – no, no, this isn’t Tonny – no,” Will frantically shook his head, “He’s still in prison – which you must know, obviously.”

“Danish prisoners _have_ been known to orchestrate criminal activity while still in prison. I’m sure this comes as so great surprise to you, Mr Graham – we have a rather liberal penal system here in Denmark – and I’ve heard many similar stories about American prisoners, despite your prison system’s … _barbarism_. ”

“No – Tonny is not at all capable of something like this.” Will fought through his hesitation, making every conscious effort to argue his point. “N-No – this is an intellectual person we’re talking about. This is a _highly_ educated person, with the means to travel.” Will leaned forward in his chair, locking his eyes on the Chief as he continued with renewed intensity. “He _has_ to be able to blend in. And he kills in threes. Now, I know there have been four victims, but I think there is the potential for him to strike another _set_ of victims, and the more I know about the previous crime scenes the greater the odds that we can get ahead of him. He is _methodical._  He is _ritualistic._  He is _obsessive,_  ” Will reached over and tapped his notebook, drawing attention to his profile that had been scrawled on the page, “He is resourceful – probably an accomplished professional, and socially adept.” Will gulped, averting his eyes. “Tonny is, well, _none_ of those things.”

“But are _you,_ Mr. Graham?”

“Well, no,” Will scoffed, and smiled defensively, “Um, what …?”

“Agent Crawford has explained to me the nature of your visit to our country. You have been in Europe for almost eight months now, and you have a personal interest in the outcome of Tonny Holm’s pending case. These murders seem to play _right_ into that interest. Can you explain that?”

Will rubbed his face. “Actually, it _was_ the, um, _personal nature_ of these crimes that brought me here today,” explained Will, a slight panic elevating his voice, “I think the Ripper could be threatening my family – and I really don’t appreciate what you’re implying here.” His face twisted in agitation.

“I imagine you _wouldn’t_ appreciate that, but I will imply it all the same.” The chief leaned his elbows on the desk as he watched Will’s reactions. “And – _threatening?_ These crimes don’t seem to be _threatening_ towards Mr. Holm at all, if that is the _family_ you’re referring to. In fact, they seem incredibly beneficial to him. Now – and Agent Crawford better explained your _unique_ abilities to me – do _you_ think I should give critical information about an open police investigation to someone in _your_ position?” The Chief raised his eyebrows in questioning. “And I am referring to your _intimate_ relationship with our prime suspect – the _personal_ nature of these attacks to Mr. Holm’s case – _and_ the fact that you are not reading as particularly _rational_ at this very moment.”

Will felt flustered and couldn’t think of anything to say to defend his appearance. He looked insane. He knew it. Suddenly, he looked like a goddamn crazy fucking lunatic, incriminating himself voluntarily. Will started sheepishly, “Um – no. I would _imagine –_ looking at my request from _your_ perspective – that I may not appear quite as um, lucid, as I might assume.” He rubbed his forehead, searching his mind for an appropriate argument, but found it only ransacked and empty. “I have been under a lot of stress recently, and, uh, I saw the potential to catch a murderer,” Will almost tripped on the words he did find, “ someone that has eluded me –, the BSU I worked with – for years, and I jumped at that opportunity.” Will paused, adjusting his glasses, “I see now that I may have been a tad premature.”

The Chief stared at Will and clicked his tongue. Will’s gaze remained fixed on his notebook, avoiding eye contact and sweating. _Holy fuck. Stop sweating!_

“So, thank you for your time, Chief Superintendent. I appreciate you being willing to speak with me,” he said, shifting in his chair to stand.

“Don’t be so hasty, Mr. Graham,” he warned as Will started to turn. “I would like to ask you a few more questions myself.” He kept his eyes on Will, rising from his own chair.

“Oh?” He cocked his head nervously.

“In a more _formal_ setting however, if you don’t mind.”

“And if I _do_ mind?” snapped Will, defensively stepping back, unconsciously glancing toward the door.

“Well, then that may be a problem.” The Chief noticed Will’s nervousness and moved around his desk, standing next to it.

“Am I under arrest?” Will scoffed, his hands fidgeting at his pockets.

“Mr. Graham, I want you to understand that inserting yourself into this investigation does not bode well for you at this time. In fact, it is – unfortunately for you – very suspicious.” His tone lightened slightly as he continued. “However, answering a few questions now may prove that you are cooperative and forthcoming with information. And regardless of the outcome, cooperative behavior is always looked at favorably.”

“This is insane,” he insisted, shaking his head.

“Is it, Mr. Graham?” He retrieved the notebook from the desk and held it up in front of Will. “You come to me with a whole _notebook_ of obsessive behaviors, profile _yourself,_ _and_ give me a motive. I feel like it would be grossly irresponsible of me to let you walk out that door after what you and Agent Crawford have just explained to me.” He walked past Will and stood between him and the door, pausing to study Will’s face. “Will you cooperate, Mr. Graham?”

Will hesitated before sighing with defeat. “Yes, I will cooperate.”

“Thank you,” said the Chief, and he led a pessimistic Will out of his office and into a small, well-lit interrogation room just down the hall.

* * *

It was the middle of the night when Will finally arrived back at the chateau, drained and desperately in need of sleep as he stumbled to the door. If it weren't for Aksel, he would’ve stayed overnight in Copenhagen. The interrogation had taken the entire five hours he had allotted for visiting Tonny. He’d been looking forward to talking to him about the trial, and was particularly aggravated about not being able to see him. It had been months since they had seen each other last and it seemed, as of late, that Tonny never answered whenever Will attempted to call.

Will quietly entered the house and headed to the kitchen, intent on pouring himself a gratuitously large glass of whatever alcohol he could find. He was surprised to find Hannibal still awake, fussing over bubbling pots on the stove. _Does he never fucking sleep?_ Will, silent and dejected, ignored him and headed to the refrigerator for food. He stopped in front of the fridge door and decided to not even bother, and wandered to the cupboard instead to retrieve a large water glass. He dropped it on the island and solemnly walked past Hannibal to the bar at the far end of the kitchen, picking out a random scotch. Hannibal was motionless, quietly observing him as he moved through the kitchen on his quest for, apparently, lots and lots of scotch. Will began filling his glass as his eyes met Hannibal’s. The glass filled and filled. Hannibal couldn’t resist watching the ever-filling glass, wondering if he would let it overflow. Without so much as a glance down, Will tipped up the bottle and let it fall to the counter before taking a long and distasteful gulp, still staring at Hannibal.

Silence. Another gulp. Staring.

“I told you not to go,” said Hannibal, breaking the silence.

“Oh yes. I remember,” sneered Will.

“It’s not my fault you didn’t listen to me, Will.”

“Oh no, Hannibal, of course not,” he scoffed, taking another swig.

“I can only assume by your late arrival that they had some questions for you,” he asked, attempting to hide his smirk.

“Oh, they had a few. A few _choice_ questions for me,” he sneered again, lowering the glass to talk. “Mainly how I managed to murder all four of them by myself – and then how I managed to set up the crime scenes. Oh, and they were curious about how I had eluded police so easily,” he snapped, gulping yet more scotch.

Hannibal couldn’t physically suppress his smile, so he grinned and chuckled at the floor.

“Laugh it up, Hannibal,” taunted Will, watching Hannibal attempt to maintain composure.

“I told you not to go,” he repeated, still grinning.

Will looked around the room in disgust. “Well, one thing’s for sure. _Tonny_ isn’t the prime suspect anymore. So at least there’s _that,”_ he sneered, taking another sip. He belly was catching fire and his head fogged with the alcohol. “And I guess I know more about the crime scenes now – so, _mission fucking accomplished.”_


	28. Guilt Doth Bring Him

“Are you fucking serious?” scoffed Will in disbelief. He was on the phone once again, sitting on the patio with Hannibal as Aksel played in the grass. Hannibal was, naturally, eavesdropping on the one-sided conversation as he studied Aksel’s behavior. The boy was intently poking at a random pile of detritus on the ground and Hannibal momentarily wondered if it was some sort of dead animal.

“You're kidding, that’s … Oh my god – no, I remember,” rattled Will, his voice still ambiguously fluctuating between panic and confused elation. Hannibal was unable to discern if this was, in fact, a favorable or a dreadful conversation. Will seemed equally bewildered by both types of news. Hannibal ignored him and continued to watch Aksel. The boy was now _handling_ the lumpy brown object from the ground, lovingly stroking it, making Hannibal furrow his brows, as he could definitely discern a hairy exterior to the mound. _Well he’s not squeamish,_ he mused. Aksel was now wiping his hands on the ground and his pants. Hannibal grimaced at the brownish smear that now trailed down the boy’s clothes. He glanced to Will to see if he’d noticed, but he was occupied with strumming his fingers on the table, listening intently to the voice on the other end of the phone while his eyes glazed over. He returned to delightfully studying the child, whose nose now wrinkled as he peeled back something that resembled skin and peered into the creature, wiping his fingers on his shirt. Hannibal winced at the thought of whatever putrid stench might be emanating from the decaying animal, and glanced again at Will for his opinion of the scene but Will was still oblivious to it, too entranced by his conversation.

Aksel suddenly dropped the brown mass and stepped back, shocked, or possibly appalled, by the contents of his discovery. The boy crouched back down over the poor beast, inspecting it now with a stick. He began poking it – delicately at first – before increasing the pressure until it tore through the flesh and jabbed into the ground. He looked up at Hannibal who casually shook his head at him.

“It’s dead, I think,” the boy called to him from across the grass.

“Well if it wasn’t before, it certainly is now!” he called back with a chuckle.

“No, it was already dead,” Aksel explained, his attention returning to the creature. “It smells bad!”

“I’m sure it does!” agreed Hannibal, still chuckling.

Aksel jogged back over to Hannibal with his fetid stick. “It has these bugs inside,” he declared, holding up the stick. A maggot was pierced at the end.

“Fly larvae,” explained Hannibal with a snicker. “They like to eat decomposing flesh,” he smiled.

“That’s gross.”

“Is it? We eat meat; it just happens to be fresher than this. Larvae eat the meat no one wants.”

“I don’t like meat,” he declared. “Is that weird?”

“No. And never worry about being weird. I’m much weirder than you’ll ever be,” he grinned. Hannibal leaned over the stick, still inspecting it. “And besides, you eat the meat I make, and you seem to like it. But I do use _special_ meat,” he emphasized, winking at the boy.

Aksel scrunched his forehead. “Why’s it special?” he wondered, leaning on Hannibal’s knee.

“Well, I butcher it myself.”

Aksel rubbed the maggot into the ground and peered up at Hannibal. “What’s butcher mean?”

“Butchering means that I cut up all the meat I cook, myself. Like what you were doing to that … thing in the grass. Only the animals I use are not nearly that smelly. Well, typically,” he smirked. “Maybe one day I can show you how to do it. Would you like to learn?”

“Is it gross?”

Hannibal rubbed his chin in thought. “Sometimes, I guess it is. But it takes practice to learn how to do it. It took me a long time to learn how to not make a big mess.”

“But I like making big messes,” he smiled. He leaned back to glance over at Will, still on the phone. “Papa doesn’t like it though.”

“Your papa makes some of the biggest messes I’ve ever seen, so don’t you listen to him,” he snickered.

“Can you teach me how to do it now?” he wondered, absentmindedly poking the ground with the stick.

Hannibal hissed through his teeth in thought. “Let’s see, you’re five now. I was thirteen when I first learned. So, maybe in a few years,” he nodded.

“Maybe I’ll like meat by then.”

“I still think you like it now.”

“I like rice better.”

“I cook your rice with meat, did you know that?” Aksel shook his head. “I think it’s why you like it so much.”

“What kind of meat? Like hot dogs?” he wondered.

Hannibal snickered at his guess, “Can you keep a secret?” he whispered, leaning towards Aksel.

Aksel’s eyes widened at the prospect of hearing a secret, and he eagerly leaned towards Hannibal. “Yes!” he excitedly hushed.

Hannibal’s eyes grew intense as he leaned closer to Aksel’s ear. “Braaaains,” he growled, pawing at Aksel’s shirt like a zombie. Aksel squealed and giggled as he ran back out into the yard, feigning terror.

The squeal caught Will’s attention and he looked up at the pair giggling together, wondering what caused the sudden commotion, but he returned to his conversation, “Really? Wow. I’m just …  shocked. I can’t fucking believe it.” He glanced over at Hannibal who was chuckling at Aksel running wildly now through the grass. “Yes, ok. Thank you so much for calling.” Will set the phone down and covered his mouth to contain his sudden onslaught of emotions. Hannibal glanced over at him, expecting Will to explain. When he didn’t, he grew perturbed that Will seemed to be trying to force him to ask what the call was in reference to, so he ignored him and looked back to Aksel. The boy had retrieved the maggot stick and was back at the dead animal.

“I’m butchering it!” he shouted, holding up the stick with a chunk of skin hanging from it.

Hannibal laughed, giving him a thumbs up as Will’s excited grin quickly dissolved into a scowl at Aksel’s declaration. “Aks! Jesus, don’t touch that! Gross!” he called to him, grimacing in horror at finally noticing the guts smeared down his clothes. “Go get cleaned up, bud! Wash your hands!” he shouted. The boy ignored him, still _butchering_ the animal. Will disregarded the whole situation, desperately needing to share his news with Hannibal. “You’re _not_ going to believe this,” he gushed, realizing Hannibal had no intention of asking him about the phone call.

Hannibal peered at him, sighing. “Oh?”

“The judge ...” exclaimed Will, shaking his head in disbelief, “he fucking _overturned_ Tonny’s verdict.” He beamed an excited grin at Hannibal. “That cutthroat bastard you just hired dragged the whole fucking case through the dirt!” He chuckled, staring at Hannibal, waiting for the news to sink in. “They’re releasing Tonny!” he finally announced, grinning ear to ear. “Shit, I can’t believe it,” he sighed, relief flooding him as he slumped back in his chair.

Hannibal sighed and cleared his throat. “Well done, Will,” he said dryly. “Your distraction of the police has helped aid and abet an actual criminal. You should be proud,” he declared sarcastically.

Will was still grinning, “I’m going to pretend like you didn’t just say that, because I don’t give a rat’s ass, Hannibal. Even your morose fucking attitude isn’t going to bring me down today. Not fucking today!” Will stood up and ran to Aksel who was still hovering over the pile of fur. He scooped up the child to hug him, playfully kissing his face. Aksel naturally protested, but Will hugged him all the same, high with the prospect of his family being whole again.


	29. Caitiff Wretches Hateful

Will nervously waited in the same chair he’d anxiously sat in almost six months ago. He was shocked and rather appalled that it had already been six months – six months since he physically saw the man he’s shared four years of his life with. Any moment Tonny would walk through that door and be allowed to walk out of the prison with Will. The scenario had played continuously in Will’s head since he received the news of Tonny’s release. This waiting, however, was excruciating. He wanted to get back on the road – get this whole damn county in the rearview mirror. It wasn’t that he had negative feelings towards Denmark as a whole … _No,_ he shook his head. _No, I hate Denmark. I do. I will never set foot in this goddamn country again._

He glanced around apprehensively, inspecting the same benches surrounding him – the same chairs filled with visitors – the same framed paintings and … _decorative plants?_ – scattered around the prison waiting room. It was all so surreal. His mind raced with what he would say to Tonny when he finally got to see him – what he would do to him. _What CAN I do to him?_ he wondered. He imagined himself running his fingers through Tonny’s hair, pulling him into his body, tasting his lips and his cheeks … His restless hands could still feel the penetrating heat of Tonny’s skin like a memory still stuck on his fingertips, and he was eager and impatient to feel it again in the flesh.

Hannibal had generously offered to fly them both into Paris where he said he was willing to pick them up, but Will insisted that the long drive across Germany alone would give them both the time and privacy they needed to talk. He briefly predicted what they’d discuss on the long twelve-hour drive home – probably Aksel, the trial, and how Tonny felt about staying at Hannibal’s until they were back on their feet. _Back on our feet,_ he smiled. _We can get our lives back to normal. We can all be together again._

A women in a business suit, and a barely discernable guard, walked Tonny into the room. They spoke briefly to him as Will stood up, nervously waiting. He fidgeted with his glasses and the pockets of his jacket, still staring at the back of Tonny’s black sweatshirt. The guard shook Tonny’s hand and motioned towards the chairs where Will now eagerly stood. Will suddenly grew faintly suspicious, seeing Tonny hesitate and cringe before he finally turned around, slowly limping towards him.

Will’s mouth gaped as his gaze fell across Tonny’s face. Blood seeped across his sickly brown eyes like the rust that creeped down the iron gate of the chateau. Bloody black eyes made Tonny’s face look pale and sunken. The man had clearly lost weight. He looked like an older, wrecked, and tortured version of the man Will thought he remembered. There were thin bandages holding together the skin over the bridge of his nose and sutures puckered his cheek and chin. Splints sheathed two of his broken fingers, and his knuckles were wrapped in fresh white gauze. Repulsed by his appearance, Will averted his gaze to the floor, his gut wrenching in horror at the sight of him. _What the fuck happened to him?!_

Tonny had nothing to say to this wretched man who contemptuously refused to look him in the eye. The excitement of his release had barely registered as reality; his mind had dulled and become a now hostile place. They said nothing to one another as Will led him out of the prison to Hannibal’s car in the lot, nervously glancing over his shoulder at Tonny’s lifeless eyes. They still hadn’t spoken by the time they made their way out of the city. Tonny reclined his seat flat and was attempting to sleep away this agonizingly painful trek home, his mind focusing its energy on suppressing his choleric temper. _Why the fuck couldn’t we have flown?_

Will anxiously drove two more hours without a single spoken word; the reticence between them was becoming excruciating, when he heard Tonny’s stomach growl. “You hungry?” he asked, finally breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“No,” snapped Tonny, unmoving. He wanted nothing from the man – not his pity, his concern, or his fucking food.

“I need to get coffee or I’m gonna pass out before we get there,” he stated, nearly whispering. It was two in the afternoon and they still had ten hours of road in front of them.

Tonny turned away from him, refusing to sit up or even acknowledge him in any way.

“I wasn’t planning on getting a room anywhere, so we’re driving straight through. I didn’t want to leave Aksel overnight,” he explained. Tonny didn’t respond. “Are we never going to speak again?” asked Will, becoming irked by Tonny’s refusal to speak. “Because that’s bullshit, Tonny. Come on.”

Tonny chewed his tongue and stared at the interior of the car. Despite what WIll may have assumed, Tonny wasn’t refusing to speak. The man quite literally had nothing to discuss with him. He wanted nothing to do with him. There were no words prepared in his head. Tonny had already exhausted himself of those words and phrases. They were now permanently embedded in the walls of his old cell.

“Are you high?” accused Will, suspicious of Tonny’s reluctance to even look him in the eye.

Tonny clenched his teeth and huffed. _“Fuck off,”_ he snapped, glaring at Will before laying back down.

“When did you last –,” began Will, before trailing off. He knew Tonny was still on something. He was always _on_ something. Tonny was tense, jittery, paranoid – all the symptoms Will had become so versed in noticing over the years.  

He rolled over to sneer at Will, his bloody eyes seething with animosity towards this overbearing bastard. “I got high on _dope_ a week ago,” he confessed, trying to enrage the man. “I’d be high right now if they didn’t test before you fucking leave. Anything else you just _have_ to know, Will?”

Will sighed. “What happened to your knuckles?” he asked quietly, his eyes softening with concern.

“Fight,” he spit.

“When was that?”

“What the _fuck_ does that matter, Will? What’s with all the goddamn questions?” he scoffed, becoming irate. He carefully rolled back over with a suppressed groan. “Like you fucking care …,” he whispered to himself.

 _Ten more hours_ , thought Will. _Ten fucking hours of this._ _Jesus christ._

Will pulled into a gas station somewhere in Germany for fuel and food. Tonny, feeling caged and ready to snap, immediately jumped out of the vehicle and stormed towards the building without a word. Will had no choice but to let him walk away, becoming panic-stricken as the man disappeared from his sight. It had been almost nine months since they had parted – now they couldn’t even stand to look at each other. Will couldn’t decide if he was heartbroken or not; Tonny seemed to have turned into a completely different person.

After an anxious fifteen minutes of waiting, Will had eaten, and bought coffee for them both. Tonny finally joined him in the parking lot, sucking on a lit cigarette.

“Why did that take so long?” questioned Will, as Tonny carefully lowered himself into the car. He shook his head, refusing to answer. “Are you seriously not going to tell me?”

“Nope,” barked Tonny, looking out the window.

“Damn it, Tonny.” Will was getting frustrated with this roundabout method of communication.

“I’m doing this _my_ way, Will. Fuck off.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means I’m not gonna spend the whole _goddamn_ drive feeling fucking _sick_ ,” he snapped, his tone bitter and resentful.

Will moaned with frustration. “Jesus fucking christ, Tonny. I can’t leave you alone at all, can I?” he grumbled, exasperated with the thought of Tonny shooting up in the bathroom here. Now, he realized, he’d have to endure the entire ride home dealing with a doped-up Tonny in the car … Will was only moments away from losing it.

Tonny shook his head in disbelief that Will would have the balls to make such an arrogant comment. _He couldn’t leave me alone?!_ “Fuck you, you piece of shit! Just drive!” he ordered. He closed his eyes, attempting to push all the anger out of his mind, just so he wouldn’t be compelled to strangle Will before the man got them both home.

“How much do you have on you right now?” Will had decided to press this issue to the bloody end. “Because I want it. You aren’t bringing it back to the house,” he declared as he scanned Tonny’s body.

“Fuck you, Will.” Tonny couldn’t stop himself from cringing every time he was forced to talk to him.

“You are _unbelievable.”_ Will shook his head in defeat. “What the hell are you thinking?”

“What do you want from me, Will?” he snapped, desperately attempting to hold back tears. “You want me to just forget the last eight fucking months? Want me to pretend it all didn’t happen so you can go back to living in your fucking fairy tale?” He turned away to try and hide his grief-stricken face. His anger lessened as he continued to speak, “You think things are ok? They will _never_ be ok, Will. I fucking _hate_ you.” Tonny reclined his seat back again and laid down, closing his eyes, ending whatever obligation he had to speak to Will. There was nothing more for Tonny to share.

Will absorbed his words slowly as his mind digested this declaration of Tonny’s disdain for him. He stared at his bruised face before his eyes followed the line of his neck, the curve of his shoulder, the length of his arm – and he suddenly noticed his hand fidgeting in the front pocket of his hoodie. Will became enraged. How many times had he nursed him back from the edge of fucking ruin? How many times had he fought with him about his goddamn addictions? He’d berated him, and screamed, and forced him into NA and AA, but nothing ever took. He gritted his teeth in disgust. This man _refused_ to get better. Will bit his lip, deliberating only a moment before lunging over at Tonny and wrestling whatever it was out of his pocket.

“What the _fuck?!”_ Tonny screamed at Will, who now held the small bag and capped syringe in his hand. “Give it back!” he ordered, violently clambering over Will in an attempt to retrieve it. Will shoved him off with his arm and sharply elbowed him in the ribs. Hissing and cringing in pain, Tonny collapsed back into his seat with a holler. He held his rib cage, gasping and wincing as tears uncontrollably pooled in his bloody eyes.

Tonny’s bruised and stitched face was wet and grimacing; his hands shook and his breath was painfully shallow. Will eyed him nervously, palming the bag still in his hand. “It’s for your own good, Tonny,” he whispered.

Tonny, broken once again, relented and laid back in his seat. He carefully maneuvered his hood up and over his head, and stared at nothing, attempting to forget the world that forever crumbled around him. Will ducked out of the car, heading toward the trash can. He emptied the bag and tossed the syringe in after it before briskly returning and slamming his car door behind him. Tonny still stared at nothing, though more tears streamed down his cheeks. Will shook off the guilt; he shook off the pity; he shook off his empathy for Tonny, because he knew what he did was right – he knew it – he was sure. Positive. It was what was best for him. It was what Aksel needed. He deserved a father who wouldn’t bring heroin into his home. Tonny was _wrong,_ and Will was _right._  He was _right,_ and he knew it … maybe. _Maybe that wasn’t the best way to do that, though,_  he thought. No ... it _was_. He looked back at Tonny. The man was still motionless and quietly sobbing.

“I-I’m not gonna apologize, Tonny,” choked Will, “You-You can’t bring heroin into the house. No. Not around Aksel.”

But Tonny was gone. He had left for a place Will had never fully understood. Will had never attempted to bring Tonny back from that world he now repeatedly escaped to within his head. Will had no inkling that his sudden introspections could be destructive, so he always allowed him these unexpected withdrawals – even if they happened mid-conversation, or rather, mid-fight – so Will abandoned the conversation as well, and restarted the engine.

* * *

The sun had set by the time they were nearing the French border, and Tonny finally inclined his seat to light a cigarette. The sudden grinding snap from his lighter forced Will to turn to him, taking in the sight of Tonny’s injured face in the meager light of the flame. His gut flopped in disgust again as he caught view of the bloody tape across his nose and the grotesque stitches along his jaw; then the scene suddenly went black as Tonny lowered the lighter. It was a ghastly, painful sight, and Will was internally chastising himself for not visiting him sooner. As his mind chewed upon how horrifically he had failed Tonny, he found his throat seize from the smoke and he loudly cleared his throat.

Tonny immediately cracked his window at the sound of Will’s cough, scoffing in disgust at his inability to remain aloof and indifferent to the man’s discomfort. The cool breeze and sudden rumble of the outside seeped in, however, refreshingly changing the aggravating silence that had been stuck within the car. Tonny closed his eyes, basking in the sound of the air rushing past them in the dark. Will’s limited understanding of how Tonny’s world operated left the man painfully out of touch with Tonny’s reality. As far as Tonny was concerned, his prison sentence was far from over, having _years_ still left to serve. Someone was still searching for him and Tonny was well aware of how ruthless these people were. They wouldn’t stop at a border. They wouldn’t stop at an iron gate. In the past, his only escape from this form of nightmare had been to board a plane and flee to the other side of the world; Tonny reflected briefly on what a horrible idea that had been. He should have headed to Cuba, Brazil, or somewhere a bit more remote than the goddamn _bedroom_ of an FBI agent. He grumbled and sneered at his own stupidity. Then a switch in his head suddenly flipped. Obsessive thoughts flooded his mind – a fear of what was to happen to him now with the relative safety of the prison gone. He may have been mercilessly flogged when imprisoned, but he wasn’t dead. He scoured his mind for any idea – any plan – of what to do. He didn’t even understand what these thugs wanted, other than information he simply didn’t have; his only possible saving grace was that no one knew where he was going – Hannibal’s goddamn _chateau._ He was still in agonizing physical pain as many of his wounds had never properly healed; his shoulder burned and itched and he could feel the stitches pull as he shifted in his seat; his ribs ached, and having no painkillers to speak of – well, not _anymore_ – his bodily injuries clouded his mind, and his misery turned from speculative fear into a constant reminder of his present physical torment.

The hunger of his body was taking over. His appetite had only been whetted at the German rest stop with his last meager bump of cocaine. He hadn’t intended to use the heroin Will had unceremoniously dumped the trash – he had promised himself he wouldn’t get high. He recognised that this promise was more than likely a lie, but he pledged it all the same. That tiny bag, less than a gram, was the last of his stash. _It wasn’t even enough to get high anyway,_ he thought, the grapes sour on his tongue. The hardest part of all of this, however, was the humiliation of Will forcefully taking it from him like he was a toddler with a steak knife. It was almost unbearable. There was nothing he could do for himself. His life had been a continuous stream of commands, directions, and orders, and he was unable to do _anything_ without explicit permission from every person he’d ever come in contact with – his father, Charlotte, Frank, Kurt, Ø, dealers, thugs, officers, guards, Will …  He resided on the lowest rung with no hope of ever climbing higher. Every potential shred of happiness the man had ever felt was mercilessly torn from him as though the author of his life found sadistic pleasure in his gratuitous and unmitigated torture.

He took another long drag and finally, after nine hours in the car, intentionally glanced over at Will. Though only lit by the soft glow of the dashboard, Will’s face was pensive and worried. Tonny’s breath staggered with an unwelcome heartache at the sight of him. He lifted his hands to his face and gently rubbed his tender, gritty eyes. His stomach suddenly moaned a growl that drew Will out of his contemplation and back into the car with him.

“You should eat something,” suggested Will, glancing across his darkened, turned face. Tonny sighed, disheartened, and ignored his command. “I bought some stuff back near Hamburg. Help yourself. It’s in the back seat.” Will’s voice remained soft and apologetic, but he noted Tonny’s obvious discouragement when he began again. “Tonny, I’m at a loss here, ok?” he admitted, trying to stabilize the sadness in his voice. He wanted to talk. He _had_ to talk. The silence was killing him. Ignoring him, Tonny continued to look out the window into the blackness of the night. “I’m normally really good at getting inside people’s heads – I mean, it was my job.” His eyes returned to the road. “I’ve always had a hard time with relationships, because I can’t – I just can’t turn it off. And I know I overanalyze and scrutinize, and I thought you were okay with that.” His eyes periodically watched the red ember of Tonny’s cigarette pulse as though alive with a steady heart beat. The man remained silent, so Will continued, “But I’m seeing now how you weren’t alright with any of that.” He sighed at his own ineptitude. “I’m controlling and anxious, and-and you used to balance that, you know? Be-because you were the uncontrollable, jovial, excitable half of-of me.” Will’s voice cracked and he desperately wanted to look Tonny in the face, but the darkness in the car wouldn’t allow it, so Will instead stared out into the small sea of light provided by the headlights. “I know we don’t get to have that back, but I want you to know that I miss it. I miss the life we had. And if I could, I would do anything to get it back.”

Tonny shook his head and ashed out the window, finally willing to speak. “That life, Will – it was good for _you,”_ he said, motioning to Will, “It was never good for _me.”_    

Will nodded, his eyes wetting, “I understand, um, I do. I know how you must be feeling and how much you hate me right now. I should have made more of an effort. But I did –”

“Stop,” he interrupted, unwilling to listen to excuses. “Would you really go back to our life before all this happened?”

“Yeah, absolutely. In a heartbeat.”

Tonny shook his head and stared at him. “Will, I was fucking _miserable_ ,” he scoffed, “And you didn’t even notice. Where the hell was your fucking _super power_ then? You didn’t give a _shit_ about me.”

Will’s heart sank, and he struggled to stay focused on the road through the clouding of his eyes. “I’m sorry, Tonny,” he whispered, “I don’t have an answer for you.”

They were two hours from their makeshift home, and they drove it in total silence yet again, with Tonny refusing to eat and Will unable to speak.  

* * *

They both sat in the darkness of the car, parked in front of the chateau. It was two-thirty in the morning. They were both physically exhausted and emotionally traumatized.

“I can’t go in there,” declared Tonny, looking at the enormity of the house with what miniscule light the moon and lamp posts provided. It looked and felt like a brand new prison – only the warden, to him, was the devil.

“Tonny, just come in and see Aksel. Get some sleep. We’ll figure out the rest tomorrow,” sighed Will, exhausted from the drive.

“I _can’t,”_ snapped Tonny, lighting another cigarette. “I won’t.”

“What do you mean you _won’t?”_ Will, exasperated and in no mood to fight, opened his car door and stepped out. “Come on, let’s just go in. We’re both beyond exhausted.”

“I’m staying in the car,” said Tonny through his open window.

“For fuck’s sake Tonny, jesus christ.” Will rubbed his aching forehead, frustrated and annoyed with everything in his life. “I _just_ drove twenty-six fucking hours to get you home. _Come on,”_ he pleaded. Tonny wasn’t budging, so Will angrily stormed to the front door, leaving Tonny to mull over his existence all night in the comfort of Hannibal’s BMW.

Inside the house, Will dragged himself into the kitchen, upset, tired, and unnerved. He leaned on the icy cold counter, his head slumped over. None of this had been what he’d envisioned, but in all honesty, he wasn’t all _that_ surprised Tonny wanted to stay in the car like a goddamn dog. Will felt himself getting hot with anger, but then frigid with anxiety. His knees gave out to exhaustion and he slid down to the floor, leaning his back against the island. He hadn’t thought about what life would be like once Tonny was here – it seemed like such an impossible scenario. He never expected Tonny to _actually_ leave prison. Will had already begun to mourn him, and now he was feeling intensely ashamed of his behavior within this house since Tonny’s arrest. Will’s mind started meandering to very dark, very painful places. His skin prickled as he broke out in a cold sweat. He slowly slid across the cupboard door and onto the kitchen floor – his cheek pressed against the cold tiles. His clothes became saturated with sweat as he drifted to sleep, his mind perpetually brooding over the kind of person he was turning into here, and why on earth he had ever set foot in this prison.


	30. Broken was Their Mutual Support

“Will?”

Will slowly opened and blinked his gravelly eyes, searching the ceiling above him for indicators as to where he was waking up. _Why am I in the kitchen?_ His neck was stiff and sore, and his back felt somewhat immobilized against the cold tile floor. Daylight streamed in through the windows by the patio doors, illuminating the entire room so his searching eyes darted around, gathering more information. He finally noted the origin of the voice that stirred him awake when his gaze fell on Hannibal’s inquisitive face. He momentarily ignored him, saving his strength and mental capacity for far more important tasks like breathing, fixing his glasses, and basking in the smell of fresh coffee brewing on the counter somewhere above him. His sweat-soaked clothes, which had slowly dried in the night, audibly peeled off the kitchen tiles as he slowly sat up. Finally upright, he rubbed his puffy eyes, still ignoring Hannibal who had crouched down beside him.

Will crawled over to the island and carefully leaned back against it, resting after the arduous two-foot journey across the floor. The sudden elevation made his head pound and ache, and he felt only moments away from vomiting. He silently noted Hannibal’s hand-crafted leather shoes directly in front of him, and was suddenly filled with a schadenfreudian pleasure as the idea of ruining the man’s day, and his expensive attire, curled his lip into a sneer. He closed his eyes, however – banishing his spite – and leaned his head back onto the cupboard door to wait for his hypertension to stabilize and his nausea to subside. _Pity._

When he finally reopened his eyes, he found Hannibal’s perplexed face still staring back at him.

“What happened, Will?” Hannibal asked, cocking his head. “Did you black out?” He sounded very intrigued by this prospect. Too intrigued, in fact.

“No. I just …” He reached up and felt the small knob protruding from the back of his skull. “I think I hit my head when I lied down.”

“Why did you lie down in the _kitchen?”_ Hannibal eyed him suspiciously.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled. His head throbbed with a web of pain radiating from behind his eyes, and he began wondering if his skull had actually cracked open when he hit the floor. He felt around his sweaty hair for a gaping wound. He found nothing, so he continued, “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” he mumbled, now stroking his temples to alleviate the growing tension. When that failed, he pawed his face with his hands.

“Where is Tonny, Will?” wondered Hannibal, still staring at him peculiarly.

“In the car. He didn’t want to come in, but who fucking cares?” Will was not inclined to _think_ about anything this early, let alone discuss the almost twenty-four hours of torturously silent driving he had just spent with Tonny.

“Do you want some coffee?” asked Hannibal, standing up.

“Yeah,” Will answered, before pausing to wonder. “... So, did you just _step over me_ to make coffee?”

“You looked so peaceful,” he smiled.

Will scoffed. He had no patience for jokes either.

“I take it from your disheveled appearance, and the fact that you and your _farm hand_ were not ceremoniously reunited in bed this morning that the drive did not go _well,”_ he smirked, placing two cups of coffee on the counter above Will.

“Incredible deduction,” he groaned, sneering at his mockery. He slowly stood up and gulped his coffee, dropping the half-empty cup back on the counter. “No, we had a very _pleasant_ drive. Full of fighting and heroin and declarations of hatred.” He took another sip. “Just like old times,” he scoffed.

“Oh, to be a fly on the wall,” mocked Hannibal, as he leaned on the counter with his cup.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll get your fair share of volatile arguments out of him. He has to come inside eventually.” Will continued rubbing his aching head, his voice still intense and fuming. “Though I wouldn’t put it past him to stay out there all week.” He sighed and glanced out the kitchen doorway to the front door. “The withdrawal is gonna be tricky for him, though. I’m fairly certain he shot up at a gas station on our way through Germany,” he sneered again as he gulped the rest of his coffee and headed to the pot for another cup. “And I dumped, what I assume, was the last of his heroin before we even got to France. But he’s quite resourceful when it comes to finding more. Much like a dog in that respect.”

Hannibal snickered and Will’s eyes snapped towards him in a glare. Hannibal dismissed his ocular flogging and continued, “So what _did_ you two talk about? Aside from the heroin, of course.”

“Basically nothing,” admitted Will, his voice softening with remorse. “I’m not joking when I say he refused to talk. I mean, he told me he hated our old life together and that he was never happy, so that was a wonderfully sobering revelation,” he sighed. “But if you’re expecting more, I’ve got nothing. I really thought he’d want to talk, but _oh no,_  not Tonny.” He was beginning to raise his voice and gesticulate with his cup. “Tonny’s an enigma _wrapped_ in a goddamn mystery. A mystery that, according to him, my little fucking _super power_ doesn’t work on!"

Hannibal chuckled at Will’s incensed tone. “Do _you_ think you have a hard time empathizing with Tonny, Will? Perhaps you do.”

Will glared at him, insulted. “He reads like a goddamn book, Hannibal. No. I don’t have a _hard time_ empathizing with him. I just get frustrated with the irrational decisions he constantly makes.” He poured himself another cup of crippling agitation in the form of steaming caffeine before continuing to speak, “He is incapable of planning ahead or seeing the bigger picture. _I_ can see _his_ perspective just fine, but he is completely blind to mine.”

Hannibal raised his eyebrows, wondering if Will ever listened to himself speak. “Is it your _perspective_ he is blind to, or your vision for his future?”

Will furrowed his eyebrows, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Maybe it’s not that he doesn’t see your perspective, Will, but that he doesn’t share your ideas about your future life together. Perhaps he feels your goals for him are unreasonable, or unattainable.”

“Oh, ok, right,” he snapped, clearly defensive. “Well, my fucking _vision_ would include _not_ being in a relationship with someone who’s a goddamn junkie. I guess that’s unreasonable and unattainable,” he mocked.

Hannibal cleared his throat and stood up, irritated by Will’s belligerence. “To an addict in the throes of a relapse, Will, yes, that is quite unreasonable. Tonny’s problems will require more from him than simply good intentions or strong willpower. And he will initially require _constant_ support.”

“I _have_ supported him, Hannibal,” he asserted, “through _three_ goddamn relapses now, and it all ends the same. He fails!”

 _“He_ fails, Will?” Hannibal raised his eyebrows. “What was happening in your lives when he first relapsed?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember,” lied Will, rubbing his eyes.

“I don’t believe that, Will.”

Will watched his hand begin fidgeting with his coffee cup as he remembered. “I was,” he hesitantly began, “… _severely_ depressed,” he nervously admitted. “I was, uh, switching psychiatrists at Tonny’s _insistence,” –_ he scoffed at the word – “and it wasn’t going particularly well.” He anxiously fixated on slowly pouring more than enough cream in his coffee to avoid accidentally looking up at Hannibal. “She had suggested that I take antidepressants – but naturally – I refused and I may have gotten overly defensive about my desire to not take prescription medication,” he paused to gulp his now milk-weakened coffee, and raced on, “And I may have also threatened her or something akin to that. Long story short, I was dealing with my own …,” he briefly peered up at Hannibal, slightly embarrassed, _“personal_ issues.”

Hannibal slowly nodded in understanding. “And who supported you through that?”

Will’s head cocked, and he sneered at Hannibal’s suggestion. “I understand what you’re saying Hannibal, but it’s highly presumptuous and more than a tad unfair to say that _I_ was the cause of his relapses.”

“I’m not saying you _caused_ any of them, Will. But a relapse doesn’t necessarily signify treatment _failure_ – it’s simply indicative that the treatment plan needs adjusted, or perhaps that an alternative treatment may be necessary to help an individual regain control of their life.” Hannibal watched Will uncomfortably shift on his feet, the man imagining where this conversation may be leading. “What I’m saying is that your inability to support Tonny in a _constructive_ way during his recovery – and this is through no fault of your own – may have been the catalyst that urged him to abandon his own treatment.”

“You _are_ calling me responsible for his destructive behavior. That’s exactly what you’re doing.” Will was growing more and more agitated, his face distorting with rage. “I can’t _control_ him! I can’t _make_ him make better decisions. We were both going through a rough time. What was I supposed to do?!”

“I’m not saying you’re responsible, Will, just that you don’t deserve to claim you were unequivocally supportive of Tonny throughout his recovery.”

Will glanced around the room in disbelief. “Ok, so I may have had my own issues I was working though, but why should I have to hover over him constantly – watching his every goddamn move?” He finally set down his coffee cup and crossed his arms, protecting his chest from more piercing accusations. “What did my depression have to do with his addiction? I may have been preoccupied, but hell, that’s not that fucking unusual. Tonny and I have always had separate lives. Why would that whole mess have been any different?”

“Will, do you think Tonny _wanted_ to see you get better? Or was he indifferent to your pain?”

Will was physically taken aback by this question. “I-I don’t understand. I mean, I don’t think he  liked watching me suffer, so, yeah, he probably wanted to see me get better. Why?”

“Then is it not reasonable to assume that he could have abandoned his own treatment in an attempt to fully support you through yours?”

“How the hell would getting high help me?!” he snapped.

Hannibal raised his eyebrows and put up his hands in an effort to calm Will’s discomposure. “An addict feels strongest when using, Will. That’s all physiological,” he reminded him, “The brain requires the drug in order to function in a normal state, especially if he was using heroin. Tonny may have felt he was more capable of helping you if he were feeling more, according to him, normal.”

Will eyed him suspiciously, but gradually allowed Hannibal’s suggestion to sink in without getting wildly defensive. “It’s ... _possible_ ,” he admitted, unable to believe he was hearing himself say it. It almost sounded as if Hannibal was _defending_ Tonny. Will thought back to that horrific winter before Aksel turned two. A deluge of guilt flooded his mind as he remembered Aksel living most of that three months tossed between spending his days with Layla and her mother, his nights with Jack and Bella, and random weekends with Alana and Margot. Will was barely functioning then, forced to take a leave of absence from the academy while Tonny cruised around Virginia on his motorcycle, Will presumed, gathering enough heroin and cocaine to sustain a small cartel.

However, despite the shadows that loomed over their life at the time, it had been _Tonny_ that kept them afloat. He drove Aksel to whoever would be watching him that day. He obtained food for them both and still managed to somewhat maintain the property. He continued to stoke the fire every day to keep them both warm, and held Will when the nights seemed endless. Things fell through the gaping cracks, but Tonny had remained steadfast, pulling them out of the darkness by the next spring, despite his crippling addiction that resulted in an accident requiring his hospitalization by mid-March. Will’s chest felt empty; he struggled to breath as he recalled this dark and traumatizing time in their lives. Will painfully reflected on how distressing it was to critically examine his own role in Tonny’s demise, especially when presented with a perspective that – in hindsight – should have been more obvious at the time. He stared at Hannibal, beginning to find himself altogether stricken with bitter self-accusation and a somewhat shameful sense of remorse.


	31. I Made the Father and the Son Rebellious

Hannibal opened the car door and slid into the driver’s seat, quickly locking the vehicle before Tonny could reach for his door handle.

“Oh, fuck this shit ...,” sneered Tonny, relenting when he couldn’t escape. He covered his eyes with his hand both to conceal his embarrassing injuries and to avoid direct eye contact with the bastard who just barged in. His strength was waning and his resolve practically nonexistent, so he remained calm in an attempt to avoid a fight.

“Good morning, Tonny,” chimed Hannibal, peering over at the sickly, disheveled man.

Tonny shook his head dismissively, wishing he had a weapon accessible to defend himself from whatever onslaught he was about to face. “What the hell do you want?”

“Mainly, my vehicle back – but it appears you’ve taken up residence in it,” he replied, casually glancing out his window.

“I’ll leave if you ask me to,” he mumbled.

“No. You’ll leave when I _tell_ you to,” he corrected, his eyes drilling into the hand covering Tonny’s face.

Tonny scoffed with disgust and lowered his hand. He glared up at Hannibal with a disdain so ferocious that Hannibal actually cocked a grin in response.

“You look absolutely appalling,” smirked Hannibal, examining Tonny's bruised face.

“Thanks, so do you,” he snapped. Tonny wondered just how much joy Hannibal was deriving from his humiliation.

Hannibal suddenly reached out and callously grabbed Tonny’s chin, wrenching the man’s face to the side as he inspected his bloody eye and stitches. “I’m not going to lie,” he stated, “I do somewhat delight in seeing you like this,” he smiled, releasing Tonny’s chin with a shove. “If you’re going to escape criminal charges on a _technicality,_ the least God could do is punish you in some way. Bodily harm is probably the only message you understand,” he chuckled. “And whoever did your sutures was an amateur; I hope they hurt.”

“Fuck you.” Tonny glared at him, gritting his teeth.

“Tonny, you do realize that you will _eventually_ be living _inside_ my home, correct? And you fully understand that your – whatever it is you call Will – is also living here, and that your son has called this his home for three months now?”

Tonny humbly averted his eyes, vaguely nodding.

“And you’re aware that I’ve almost completely financially supported, not just your … _family,_  but your entire legal defense?”

Tonny nodded again.

“So, do you think for the time being, you could show even a minuscule amount of gratitude for what I have done for you?”

Tonny looked at him shamefully, “Okay.”

“Will tells me you had a rather dull ride home,” he grinned, relaxing back into his seat.

Tonny scoffed. “Did he send you out here to talk to me?”

“No. Oddly enough, I am out here of my own volition.” Hannibal, indifferent to Tonny’s questions, casually reached up and readjusted the rearview mirror. “Will actually tried to stop me,” he boasted. “Why don’t you want to come inside, Tonny?” he contemptuously sighed, looking down at him.

Tonny paused, thinking of an answer that wouldn’t get him punched in the teeth. “I didn’t ask for any of this,” he admitted. “I don’t _want_ any of this.”

“Do you not find your current situation fortunate?”

“My son’s not gonna recognize me. I fucking hate Will. He fucking trashed the rest of my …,” he hesitated and decided it was better to omit that part, “I have no home or any money, and now I have to live with _you._ I wouldn’t call any of that fucking shit _fortunate,”_ he said, lighting a cigarette.

Hannibal sneered at the cigarette. “But does any of that justify you sleeping in a car? _My_ car?”

“I don’t know what else to do,” he admitted.

“What are you really hiding from, Tonny?”

Tonny took a long drag and ashed out the open window. “I’m not the same person I used to be. I think Will thinks I am. And he thinks I should just go back to the way things were.” Tonny was chewing on his thumbnail. “I’ve hurt all these people. Even you with the money. And I don’t know why Will needs you, but …” he paused, “I just can’t get over the shit from four years ago.”

“What can’t you get over, Tonny?” Hannibal leaned towards him, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Tonny shook his head. “I don’t really want to talk about it with you.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I don’t fucking trust you. I think you’re a goddamn asshole. I don’t trust you like Will does. He’s obsessed with you and I fucking hate it,” snapped Tonny, unable to look at Hannibal as he spoke.

Hannibal leaned back in his seat in thought. “Now why would you say Will’s obsessed with me?”

Tonny refused to answer him in favor of tending to his cigarette and now-bleeding nail bed.

Hannibal’s attention returned to Tonny. “Do you want to know what I think you’re doing out here?”

Tonny rolled his eyes, pretending to not care, though intently waiting to find out what exactly he _was_ doing in the car.

“I’ve seen this a lot as a psychiatrist – people shutting themselves away like you. They use the separation as a way to deal with negativity in their environment. They are hiding from authoritative figures who they feel are dismissive of them. They will refuse to get out of bed, refuse to sleep, deny themselves food, and in cases like this, lock themselves away in the hopes of maintaining some sort of control over their own life.”

Tonny stared at him, now acutely listening.

“They’re called _children,_ Tonny.”

Tonny huffed a dismissive scoff and shook his head, his mind beginning to shut down.

“When a child feels overwhelmed with being forced into a role of someone else’s choosing, they will eventually rebel and seek autonomy – toddlers do this, as do teenagers – and this is what you are doing now,” declared Hannibal. “But do you know what happens when a child seeks to control its environment by holding its breath?” He briefly waited for an acknowledgment from Tonny. His son barely glanced at him, so he continued, “It collapses, Tonny. And its body will naturally resume breathing – a defense mechanism to avoid self-destruction.” He stopped again, allowing his words to sink into Tonny’s drug-addled mind. “But _you –,”_ he intensely continued, his gaze piercing Tonny’s already injured eyes, “are an _adult,_ capable of making even more destructive choices than simply holding your breath – choices your body cannot overcome. And right now, you have to consciously decide if you’re going to be a spoiled, self-destructive _child_ or an _adult_ with responsibilities and obligations to your family – whom _I_ have been supporting in your embarrassing absence.”

Tonny glared at him, mulling over the man’s words. This all felt an awful lot like he was being scolded by his father, which intensified the entire shameful conversation. Tonny quietly debated if he could suddenly deck Hannibal in the face. Could he get away with it? Would Hannibal call the cops, or just beat the piss out of him in turn? Would it be worth it though? _Hell yeah._ But he was in no physical condition to fight so he blankly ran his hand along the dashboard, appearing to ignore Hannibal. He casually opened the glove box to examine the contents for a weapon, finding only useless documentation. He quickly latched it with a clack and returned his eyes to Hannibal.

Hannibal watched him tensely search the glovebox, and upon finding no weapon, shift nervously in his seat. He found his reaction quite humorous but suppressed his amusement, resuming his admonition instead. “So, Tonny, you can sit out here holding your breath like a toddler, or you can come into the house with the adults. It’s your choice ... Choose wisely.” Hannibal unlocked the car doors and studied Tonny as the man deliberated his rather obvious choice.

Few instances in Tonny’s life had been more humiliating than this. To have the man he despised most in the whole goddamn world calling him a fucking brat because his life was falling apart was only a tad nicer than someone physically stabbing him in the back of the neck. At least, he noted, they were alone. And in all honesty, taking a direct order from Hannibal was probably less shameful than relenting to Will’s nonsensical demands. With that thought painfully penetrating his mind – much like a stab to the back of the head – he opened the car door, ducked out, and made his way to the house.


	32. Without Hope we Live On

Tonny slowly scrutinized Will’s bedroom at the chateau, examining just how opulently Will had been living here, while _he_ was trapped in prison. The oversized room had been recently cleaned and straightened by Anouk. Tonny glared at the soft, luxurious bed covered with a gratuitous number of pillows as he remembered the thin mattress and filthy blanket in his cell. The wall of windows looking out to the balcony were spotless and sparkled, though he imagined they became quite blinding in the morning. He stared in disgust at the massive vases of greenery – black pine, rue, and coltsfoot – that took up half the space on the nightstands. He scoffed at the ridiculous extravagance of everything here, rolling his eyes in disgust. “Pretty sure this is nicer than where I’ve been living,” he noted, bitterly recalling Will’s initial observation of the prison. Will mustered a pained smile, his eyes no longer overflowing with frustration, but now rather soft and mournful. Will motioned for Tonny to follow him out to the balcony, where the evening sun was setting and the darkening atmosphere brought with it a cool breeze.

The day had been long and painful for them both. Tonny had spent some of it attempting to bond with Aksel, who was painfully disinterested in wanting to reacquaint himself with his beaten and bloodied father. No one could blame the child, of course. Tonny was a different, less likable person – short tempered, edgy, jittery, and his bloody-eyed, bruised, and sutured face was difficult to explain delicately to the 5-year-old. Tonny attempted to enjoy a movie with his son, but after an hour of watching him cuddle with Anouk and only accepting snacks and drinks from Hannibal, he had to leave. He sat the remainder of the afternoon and evening atop a hill that overlooked the house and vineyard, chain-smoking and staring off into space. Will wanted to go to him, but Hannibal suggested otherwise, insistent that Tonny be given time to reflect on his new role here – in his detested and unfamiliar new home. This gift of solitude was probably the kindest gesture Hannibal would ever bestow upon his son as he _needed_ this time to quell the violence that threatened to lash out at everyone in the household. After dinner, however, Tonny had finally returned to the house, his rage having temporarily subsided, and after saying goodnight to Aksel, he agreed to talk to Will privately in the man’s room.

They now stood on the balcony, each apprehensively waiting for the other to break the uncomfortable silence. The months of separation felt like a lifetime and they were each still mourning the loss of the warm and comfortable life they had grown so accustomed to. Finally, Tonny pulled out his cigarettes, extending his pack towards Will. “Smoke?” he offered. They were both awkwardly avoiding eye contact.

“Sure,” he replied, accepting this temporary truce in the form of a cigarette. Tonny tossed him the lighter and they both stood silently gazing out over the hills and the vineyard.

“Figured you would’ve quit after eight months,” sniffed Tonny, nervously scratching his nose with his thumb. He puffed his cigarette and ashed over the balcony edge, noting how far it was to the ground.

“Old habits.” Will watched him peer over the stone wall. “They still sort of … remind me of you,” he added, inspecting the lit cigarette in his hand.

Tonny anxiously sighed, still looking out across the land. “Not sure how I feel about that.” He sucked on his smoke, imagining a time when idle chit-chat might not be so excruciatingly grueling for them. Tonny hated trying to _talk_ to Will like this. He could joke, and Will would laugh. He could play, and Will would join him. But to have a serious discussion with the man always seemed to end in pain – mostly his own. They both recognized that Will was much more concise than Tonny, which was why he almost exclusively won their arguments. Even if he was wrong, Will could effortlessly talk circles around Tonny until he admitted defeat. Tonny was easily flustered if he felt attacked, and Will often, and sometimes unknowingly, took advantage of this.

Today, however, Will consciously pushed aside his anger and heartache to empathise with Tonny, attempting to give him what he thought he needed at this moment in time rather than lording his faults over him. The man was broken and hurting. He was lonely and scared, and Will could feel the emotional and physical pain emanating off of him. He decided he’d be the bigger man today and make himself just a little bit vulnerable in commiseration.

“Well,” continued Will, “it's a lot easier to tolerate making out with a smoker if you've had one yourself –,” he teased with a half-grin, “in case you forgot.” His hopeful eyes glanced at Tonny, wondering how he’d respond to his implication. Though Tonny had already declared his hatred for him, Will was aware that when cornered, a cage and scared animal often bites. He was hoping Tonny’s first day of freedom – safe from violent attacks – had provided him the opportunity to reexamine his emotions under less stressful and dire circumstances.

Tonny looked at him, now regretful for so many of his actions and words. His eyes teared up as he slumped down in the wrought iron chair on the balcony. Will pensively watched as Tonny hid his face in his hands, exhausted and completely overwhelmed. Will, too, began feeling that overwhelming need to collapse – with relief, or despair, or both. He remained standing, however, like a beacon for Tonny to cling to as the man fought against his abyss of grief and fear. Will quietly stepped in front of him, gently running his fingers through Tonny’s unkempt hair, his heart painfully aching with each of the man’s wearied sobs.

Tonny shuddered at his touch and hesitantly wrapped his arms around Will’s waist, pushing his cheek against his stomach. He sighed, closing his eyes, finally losing himself in this raw, tender moment, that he had painfully envisioned countless times. They both inhaled the smoky cool air that curled around them, wondering to themselves if it was possible for either of them to fully recover from the last year, and whether their lives could ever return to normalcy. Of course, _normal_ was a relative term for them both.

Will reached behind him, dropping his lit cigarette on the balcony wall. He returned his freed hands to their embrace, lightly rubbing his fingers along Tonny's gruff chin and pulling up his gaze to look him in the eye. Will’s throat released a shaky, stuttering sigh as he reexamined Tonny’s wounds, gently stroking his thumb along the man’s cheek. Will couldn’t tear himself away from Tonny’s bloody, mournful eyes which, Will thought, made Tonny look like a demon incarnate. It was a horrifying revelation that he may have been, in some indirect way, responsible for the man’s immense physical suffering – if he had just gone to see Tonny, he could have spoken to guards, watched the behavior of the other inmates, or hell – gone to the chief about _this_ disgusting injustice, instead of his vain attempt to catch the Ripper, which got him nowhere but on a suspect list.

Tonny’s red and brooding eyes stared up at him, studying Will’s unfortunately familiar expression. It felt like pity, and Tonny winced with shame at this realization. It was bad enough to be humiliated by Hannibal and dismissed by Aksel, but to be pitied by Will was excruciating.

Will tugged gently at his arm and Tonny rose, still saddened, but relieved that Will was initiating physical contact. He desperately needed reassurance that he was allowed to feel hurt, scared, and angry about the last eight months of his life, and that there was someone willing to accept and support him despite being broken, useless, and a burden. He wrapped his arms around Will’s back as he silently wept on his shoulder, releasing his feigned antagonism towards the man. Will held him, wanting nothing more than to end both of their profound and unnecessary sufferings. He decided that taking the time and space they both needed to properly heal, was the best course of action, so a slow and gradual reacquaintance was necessary.

However, solace – as it so often happened with this troubled pair – transformed emotional consolation into physical comfort. Weeping onto shoulders turned to nuzzling of cheeks, and as their lips found their way across each other’s skin, their nuzzling became tentative kisses, as they both sought protection and security in each other’s warmly familiar embrace. Their hearts throbbed and ached together, hoping that this meager intimacy would provide, at least, a temporary diversion from their shared grief.

Will slowly backed Tonny into the bedroom, still softly gripping his hair and tasting his lips, until they met the edge of the bed. They groped and panted and consumed each other’s necks, savoring this slight indulgence from the past. Tonny pulled away to carefully strip off his shirt with a soft painful moan before scrambling backwards on the bed. Will followed him, attempting to maintain contact with his skin.

“Will?” breathed Tonny, between kisses to the man’s face.

Will hummed his acknowledgment, continuing to kiss his neck.

“I know you don't love me or anything like that, but can you just fucking pretend?” he whispered. “Just so we can get through this.” His voice was weak and trembling. “I don’t want you to fuck around with me out of pity. I’m tired of that shit.”

Will pulled away to look at him, shocked, his mind flooding with his own wild interpretations of Tonny’s words.

“No, no. Don't –,” Tonny’s voice cracked with regret. “Please don't stop –, ” he begged through tears. Tonny held his face in his hands yet again and sobbed. “I don't know why I fucking said anything. P-Please don't stop –,” he pleaded. “I'm sorry, Will,” he choked out, berating himself for fucking up his last chance to feel Will’s skin on his.

Will, now despondent and beyond heartbroken by Tonny’s begging sobs, glanced down and finally saw the full damage to Tonny’s naked body. His shoulder had been wrapped in a bled-through bandage that had since dried and crusted. His ribs were green and yellow with bruises. Cuts and scrapes were scattered across his abdomen, some still swollen and fresh. It was only now that Will noticed the torn, red flesh of his knuckles, and the glaringly obvious defensive wounds his forearms had suffered. He was thinner now, and his weakened limbs moved with a hesitant shake that made him appear terror-stricken and gun-shy. A distressing sadness filled Will at the sight of him. Did he pity Tonny? Of course he did. The man was a devastated wreck, and he deserved compassion for his suffering. He deserved a sympathetic sorrow for his pain and torment. Tonny assumed Will felt contempt for him, and that through some empathic responsibility, Will was obligated to physically comfort him. But Will’s motivations in seeking Tonny’s body were to soothe his own psychological wounds as well.

Will exhaled his jarring turmoil, saying nothing, and returned carefully to the man’s neck, nuzzling him gently as Tonny silently sobbed now with a profound relief. Will felt devastated for him, but swallowed back his own tears to appear strong and steadfast. “I won't stop Tonny, but I won't pretend anything either,” he agreed. He was unsure how to react to Tonny’s request. He had never fully understood his emotional attachment to Tonny, except to know that he loved joking and laughing and being with him. But he loved being with Aksel and Hannibal as well. He loved having his family, but he had fought so hard with the parts of Tonny that had been detrimental to their world. Will still harbored resentment towards him and he wasn’t sure when, or if, he could heal those wounds. Knowing how miserable Tonny had been though their time together made him question everything about their relationship. If he had misinterpreted so much of the man’s affection for him, how could he trust himself to even understand his _own_ attachment to him? Was their whole life together based on a series of hastily-constructed lies just to briefly assuage their pain?

Tonny nodded to Will’s response, though teary-eyed and brokenhearted.

Will moved from his neck to his face, trailing kisses from his lips down his chest. Then he paused. “It's _trust,_ Tonny,” he clarified, looking up at him. “I can't trust you. You _know_ I can’t trust you.” Tonny nodded with painful understanding. “And I don't know _how_ to trust you anymore – you lied about Aksel – about using – stealing from me. You’ve lied to me so damn much,” he explained, sullen but still turning back to Tonny’s skin.

“I-I know, Will. I just don't know how to fix it,” he admitted. Tearless sobs still built up and ached in his chest.

Will gently kissed across his shoulder and down his arm until he was holding his hand. He wanted to taste every inch of him – remembering everything from the past, consoling them both – but he stopped at two punctures on Tonny’s arm, and stared at them, a grim and remorseful twinge erupting in his gut. Tonny eyed him uneasily as Will stared. “I failed you, Tonny,” he admitted, “I was so blinded by my own grief that I didn't even try to help you. And I'm so sorry.” Will swallowed back his own pain and searched Tonny’s eyes for any sign of understanding or forgiveness.

“You don't –,” he began, but his weakened voice gave out to weary sobs. Gradually composing himself, he managed to continue, “You don’t have to say that, Will. You never have to say that.” Tonny was disgusted with himself. Where before he saw pity, now he saw Will blaming himself for his own destructive behavior, and it brought him a new, unimaginable level of disgrace. How many more ways was he going to fail Will? Disappoint him? Hurt him? Tonny couldn’t look him in the eye.

“Tonny, I'm not infallible,” Will insisted. “I make mistakes, too – gross, _negligent_ mistakes. And I was wrong to not help you.” He slowly and methodically rubbed Tonny’s palm which still laid across his hand. “It may seem justified because of what happened a few years ago, and because I was grieving for Aksel, but the reality is that you were my _partner,_ Tonny, and I should have taken care of you.” Will’s voice cracked with pain. “I _failed_ you and I want you to know that. I'm so sorry I didn't try harder.” He leaned down to hug him, but Tonny quickly covered his face with his free hand.

He sobbed into his hand, covering his eyes in shame before exhaustedly dropping his arm. He looked at Will’s apologetic eyes and felt a fleeting sense of relief from his words. Will admitted he should have helped him – he referred to him as his _partner –_ he even called himself _wrong._

Will, however, taking his own anxiety and resentment as an excuse to air all his grievances, unfortunately continued. “Remember when you fell off the roof?” he asked, and Tonny nodded. “And you remember the conversation in the shower?” Tonny smiled slightly at the memory. “I said you don't think things through. This is what I meant by that.” He touched his track marks. “You're using heroin again. It’s no longer _just a little coke,_  Tonny. Do I need to worry about you stealing more money from me – you getting high around Aksel – diseases?”

“I _never_ shared needles, Will, never,” he asserted. His heart raced and he felt himself flush with a mixture of embarrassment and fear.

“So you don’t share needles … until you're too high to realize you’re doing it, or you just stop caring. Then what?” Will stared at Tonny, who remained silent, unable to form a defense. “I tried to help you get clean, and this just keeps happening. It’s a cycle, Tonny – every year. I said I was fine with you smoking pot – which was irresponsible on my part – but this is far beyond my limit.” Will’s face was sober, his voice steady. “We’ve _done_ this before. I’m not going through another accident with you. You could have killed someone – you could have died, Tonny. I won’t tolerate that amount of irresponsibility any longer.”

It was only eight months ago. Eight months ago they were kind of – sort of – _maybe_ happy. At the least, they were living in a time where happiness was possible. Eight months ago, Will was soaked and sexy, playfully teasing him about falling off the roof while putting up Christmas lights. Tonny would give anything to go back there, to hide just in that single memory forever, when he was actually happy and blissfully unaware of what horror was on its way to his family's front door. He was wrong to tell Will he was unhappy with their old life. He was missing it now that he had this new and painfully shameful relationship with Will staring him in the face. But he had even more secrets now – more fodder to damage whatever they could possibly attempt to rebuild – and he didn’t know what to do with them. How could he convince Will to trust him again if he couldn’t tell him the truth?

“I'm sorry, Will,” he sighed, his tone scared and meek. “But I wasn't gonna use again. I really mean that,” he confessed, tears welling again.

Will scoffed and stared at him skeptically. “What does that mean, Tonny? I could tell you were planning on it the day I came to the prison.” Will rubbed his forehead and tried to calm his voice. “If you weren't going to start using again, why did you go out of your way to find it? Fuck, Tonny. You have to stop _lying_ to me,” he demanded.

Tonny sighed with frustration. He wasn’t lying to him. “I tried to OD with it,” he blurted.

Will stared at him in disbelief. _What the fuck did he say?_ His mind was plunged into a fog of horror and shock. _He tried to what?_ His skin turned to ice, and he sat shaking his lowered head. He quivered and grew tense at the realization of what could have happened – and what _did_ happen. Appalled and incensed, his pupils dilated, his heart raced, and with a heaving breath he raised dark, raging eyes back to Tonny.

Tonny saw something in Will’s psyche snap, and it terrified him. “B-But I woke up. I'd fucking puked all over myself, but I woke up.” He grew frantic as he watched the rage bloom in Will’s eyes. “I just wanted it all to stop, Will – but I fucking failed at that too. N-None of this was supposed to happen – I never wanted to hurt anyone.”

Will could barely form a thought rational enough even to activate his speech. “Except _yourself,_ right?” he growled through gritted teeth. He stood up from the bed, consumed from within with violent fury.

“You-you said you wouldn't stop, though,” pleaded Tonny, still desperately yearning for physical affection.

“Well, guess what, Tonny?” sneered Will, “I fucking _lied!”_


	33. Love Compelleth me to Speak

Tonny, horrified, watched Will pace the floor of the bedroom. Will was incensed and shaking frantically, mumbling to himself while Tonny remained speechless on the bed, his hands on the back of his head. Tonny was agonizing over just how badly he’d broken Will this time. His eyes remained fixed on the fuming man, studying him, terrified of a blackout or another nervous breakdown – and all because of him, _again._ He clenched his teeth, tearing up at how worthless and disappointing he was to everyone.

“Overdosing? What the _fuck_ , Tonny?!” snapped Will, looking up at the ceiling in dismay. He was talking to himself as he paced the room. Tonny remained silent on the bed, afraid to speak to him in his agitated state. “I _know_ it's not selfish ... but it's fucking _selfish_ ,” Will sneered to himself, gritting his teeth. “You have a fucking _son!”_ he screamed. “You can _leave_ _me_ – you can fucking _kill me –_ but don’t you leave your fucking _son!”_ He stopped and took a moment to catch his breath, cradling his forehead. His voice slowly calmed as he tried to collect himself. “I _know_ it's not selfish. I _know_ you thought it was your only option. You were hurt, and in pain …” He said each word deliberately, as if attempting to convince himself.

He turned away from Tonny, rubbing his face and now mumbling as he organized his seething mind. He opened his eyes and looked out the window into the night sky, deeply exhaling his terror as he thought. “It's a mental disorder. It’s-It’s not being able to cope with a hopeless situation. It’s _depression_ – it’s _grief –_ it’s _fear_ …,” he acknowledged. “But it still feels so selfish to me ...” He was rubbing his face, still talking to the voices in his head. “You leave people behind, Tonny. People who care about you – but I know you weren’t thinking that – I know. _I know!”_ he shouted, exasperation filling him. He was scared, and talking himself down from the mountain of panic that was welling up inside him. He tried imagining himself as the despondent man who sat nervously watching him pace. “I _know_ you couldn’t see how much Aksel and I need you because the desperation … it-it was overwhelming.” He glanced at Tonny and saw the paralyzing fear across his face. He consciously calmed his mind and his speech to avoid scaring him further. “You feel like a burden on everyone around you, and you think you know how to get rid of it. It makes sense to you. I know it does. I-I mean, I’m not heartless. I get it because I know what it feels like. I _remember_ what it feels like to be that crippling _weight_ that crushes everyone around you.” He stopped, lost in his own memories, staring at his fidgeting hands. “I remember that misery.”

Tonny slid off the bed and slowly approached him. He was watching him, listening to agonizing whimpers escape Will’s lips as he was tormented by his thoughts – his _memories_ – of a time when he himself had tried to make it all stop.

Though racked and consumed with fatigue, Will tried to look at Tonny and continue, _“You_ know that I’ve experienced that desperation. You didn't leave when I was going through it. You helped me come out of it alive. You _made sure_ I came out of it alive.” He dropped his hands, suddenly unable to look at him. Will’s eyes fell to the floor and he shook his head, disgust filling him. “You didn’t leave my side for two whole days when I was that hopeless.” He finally glanced up at Tonny who was gazing back at him, still engulfed in worry. “And you didn't leave me to flounder that horrible fucking winter – even though I’d hurt you. I beat the _shit_ out of you –” his voice cracked and he covered his welling eyes in regret, “– for no fucking reason except you were trying to help me. And you _still_ refused to abandon me.” An overwhelming disgrace suddenly washed through him and he paused, drowning in shame. “And that’s exactly what I did to you …” he choked, “I abandoned you.”

Will dropped his hand and looked up at Tonny, appalled by his behavior since Tonny’s arrest. “You took care of me – but I _never_ took care of you, Tonny,” he continued, stepping towards him, his eyes still wet and glassy in contemplation. “You never _hated_ me for hating myself. You loved me despite what I’d done to you, and that’s … that’s just –” Will’s voice trailed off and weakened as he grew weary and overwhelmed by his realization. “You loved me enough that you refused to leave me in that dark place all alone. You weren’t mad at me – you didn't hate me. You loved me.”

“I did,” admitted Tonny, dropping his arms to his sides. He was about to continue when he hesitated, looking at Will solemnly.

They both fell silent, neither certain where the other stood in regards to their relationship. Will finally closed his eyes and temporarily relinquished his own control, the guilt and pain from learning of Tonny’s desperation consuming him. “Tonny,” he began, opening his eyes to look at the face of the broken and hurting man before him, “you have this unwavering compassion and understanding in you that I will never have,” he admitted, his tone soft and apologetic, “You’ve been incredibly supportive of me and my issues, even if that support became self-destructive.” He sniffed and rubbed his running nose with the back of his hand. “Your strength has carried me through the most god-awful times of my life, and you’ve just put up with my unending barrage of shit without a single complaint. I don’t even know ...,” He had to pause to compose himself as he watched Tonny’s eyes well up. “You’re passionate about everything you do, and _–_ god, you’re terrifyingly impulsive,” Will glanced at the floor, nervously chuckling through his tears, and Tonny weakly smiled. “But I love that about you. I love a lot of things about you.” Will rubbed his eyes and anxiously scratched the back of his head. “I love you, Tonny,” he softly admitted, avoiding eye contact. “And I’m so sorry you didn’t know that. I’m sorry that of all the goddamn people in the world, I never really understood _your_ pain through all this shit.” Tears slowly dripped from Will’s chin as he tried to come to terms with just how cruel he’d been to Tonny, without even realizing it. He stared at the floor, knowing he couldn’t look into Tonny’s bloody, wounded eyes and ask forgiveness. Will wasn’t used to being blindsided by his own errors in judgement, and it made him feel weak and unprotected.

The worry across Tonny’s face slowly relaxed, but he shook his head in disbelief, “Will …” he sighed, “I really want to believe you.” He sullenly stared at Will’s lowered face. “You have no fucking idea how much I _want_ to believe you … but I’m a fuck up. That’s all I know how to be. And I don’t want you to be with someone who’s gonna keep ruining your life.”

Will paused, and his breath seized as Tonny’s statement sunk in. Was it an admission of mutual love? No. A declaration of commitment? No. _Why wasn’t it?_ Distressed and horrified, Will’s eyes widened and his heart raced. “I’ll help you, though,” he blurted anxiously. “I’ll help you get better and be whatever kind of person you want to be,” he fretted, growing panicked about Tonny’s intentions. _What is he doing?!_

“You’ve tried to help me, Will. I just screw everything up,” insisted Tonny, still feeling like a failure. He shook his head, wanting to forget every single time he’d ever let Will down.

“No. No. No, Tonny. _I_ didn’t try hard enough,” he admitted, his voice rattling with fear. “I should have helped you more than I did. That was _my_ fault, Tonny. _My_ fault, not yours.” Will’s heart flopped in his chest as his body flooded with adrenaline. He could barely see, and as his pulse quickened, he broke out in a cold sweat. Now he was exposed. He had done exactly what he had been avoiding for years – he’d made himself vulnerable and open to rejection, and he was scrambling to regain control over the situation. _What the fuck is happening? He really hates me. What have I done? Why did I say it at all?!_  

“I don’t know, Will,” he hesitated. Tonny was still doubtful he could ever be a better person. “I can’t even trust myself anymore. How can you?” he sighed, despondent and disappointed with himself. He watched Will’s face as the man’s eyes widened in a panic. Will was nervous and sweating. Tonny, confused, reached out and took Will’s hand. It was cold and clammy. _Why?_ _Why is Will so goddamn nervous, we’re just talking._ _Why can’t we ever just fucking talk without him turning it into a goddamn life or death situation?!_

“T-Tonny,” muttered Will through his panic, as he watched the man touch his hand. “We’ll have to work on it, b-but we can do that together. You and I,” – he was scrambling for words – _“together,”_ he pressed, “like _equals_ .” He couldn’t believe this. Tonny was truly finished with their relationship, and he wanted out. Will had no idea what to do. _Am I supposed to beg? What the hell is happening? Is Tonny leaving? He just got out of prison! Why did I just think I should beg? Beg for what? Beg for what, Will?!_

Tonny dropped Will’s hand and suspiciously stepped back. “Why the hell are you freaking out, Will?” he asked, confused, watching Will’s pupils dilate and his breath become rapid and sporadic.

Will could barely compose himself enough to speak clearly. “W-What do you mean?” he asked, attempting to calm himself and slow his heart rate, though sweat was beading up and running down his temples.

“You’re fucking _panicking,_ Will. _Why?”_ Tonny furrowed his brows and looked at him questioningly. Will narrowed his own eyes as they both attempted to read the other’s intentions. “Will? Do …,” he paused, curious, “Do you think I’m leaving you?” He waited a moment as he watched Will’s reaction. The man was unconsciously shaking his head. “Wait. Will,” he hesitated again, thinking, a subtle smirk creeping across his lips, “Are you actually _in love_ with me?”

Will faintly scoffed at the implication. “No!” he insisted, unintentionally. “Um, wait ... no,” he repeated, “I said that _I love you_ , Tonny.” He attempted again to clarify.

“Yeah, I know. I heard that,” he stated nonchalantly, as though his heart _wasn’t_ racing with elation at hearing Will’s admission. “I asked if you were _in love_ with me.”

Shock spread across Will’s face. His eyes darted to the floor and he mulled the question over and over in his head, wondering what he was missing. “What … uh, wh-what’s the difference?” he scoffed, his arms involuntarily crossing over his heart.

Tonny was painfully suppressing his delighted smile, fully entranced in watching Will struggle  for a response. Tonny rarely, if ever, had the upper hand in _any_ situation, let alone one of this magnitude, and he was somewhat cruelly reveling in it. He often found himself at the whims of his own emotions, trapped and struggling to name them – understand them – control them – and, he realized he felt some form of relief watching Will do the same. It was almost comforting to know Will was just as confused as he was.

Will uncomfortably stared at him, embarrassingly shifting his weight between his feet. He swallowed down this agonizingly awkward self-consciousness and glared at Tonny suspiciously. “Are you –,” he muttered, trying to read his eyes, “Are you just fucking with me right now?” he asked quietly, tilting his head accusingly. “Be-Because if you _are_ … I’m gonna have to uh, –,” his empty threat trailed off. Tonny tried to cover his unintentional smirk with his hand, suppressing a snicker. “You’re a piece of shit, you fucking asshole,” Will exhaled with relief, covering his eyes.

Tonny slowly reached out to him, still grinning, and wrapped his arms around him, bringing Will’s head to his shoulder. “Poor Will,” he mocked, smiling. He felt Will shake his head with embarrassment. “All confused and in love with me,” he teased.

“You’re a goddamn prick,” sighed Will, muffled against Tonny’s neck. “I take it all back.”

“Shh, Will. It’ll be ok. I got you,” he snickered, still stroking his hair. “I’ll take care of your sensitive little feelings.”

“Ok, ok, I got it, you bastard,” scoffed Will, hardly amused. “Do you want me to start making fun of _you_? Because I have an arsenal of shit at my disposal.”

Tonny chuckled, but certainly didn’t want _that,_ so he tightly wrapped himself around Will who finally lifted his arms and gripped Tonny’s bare back. Tonny inhaled deeply against Will’s neck, enjoying this new sentimental euphoria. “I love you, Will,” he whispered, exhaling four years of suppressed emotion. He softly kissed his neck. “And I’ll never hurt you again, ok?” he sighed into Will’s ear, a promise they both knew he’d probably break, but none of that mattered at this tender moment in time.

Will’s pulse slowed as he relaxed into Tonny’s body. His mind was so overflowing with relief that he felt weakened and dizzy. “Don’t worry about me, Tonny,” he breathed almost inaudibly against Tonny’s skin, his voice unable to say it any louder, “just don’t ever hurt yourself again.” He nuzzled into Tonny’s neck and he felt him nod. They held each other, sniffling, as they enjoyed this peaceful sense of solidarity, lovingly together and alive. But while Tonny was focused on how _close_ Will’s heart finally was to his, rhythmically pounding mere inches away, Will was far more concerned with feeling Tonny’s heart beat at all, as the thought of almost losing him in an even more devastating and permanent way overtook his mind.

“Will?” asked Tonny, softly nuzzling his lips against Will’s chin.

Will’s attention slowly drifted back to this living, breathing version of the man he just admitted to being in love with. “Hmm?”

“Can we fuck around now?” he asked with a smile. Will laughed into his neck. “I mean, it’s been like eight months.”

“Jesus, Tonny,” sighed Will, exasperated, but still enjoying himself. “I thought we were having a moment.”

“What the fuck’s _a moment_?” asked Tonny. Will scoffed with a chuckle, ignoring him as he kissed his neck.

Tonny, not waiting for an answer, unbuttoned his pants and dropped them to the floor. He slowly backed up as he tugged on Will’s clothing, slowly leading him back to the bed. Eight months had been a long time for Tonny, and he was relishing every moment of this experience. He laid back on the bed, ogling Will, who quickly disrobed, still smiling and shaking his head at Tonny’s ignorance of the magnitude of this situation.

Tonny lovingly pulled the now fully undressed Will on top of him. The two lazily kissed each other’s skin, groping, pulling, and feeling each other’s flesh for the first time in what seemed like eons. Will felt his body gently melt into him as a harsh hiss suddenly escaped Tonny’s lips. Will immediately sat up, lifting his weight off him.

“What’s the matter?” he panted, scanning his body. Tonny was breathlessly holding his side, his face set in an agonizing grimace.

“My busted rib,” he painfully winced.

Will gently inspected his rib, concerned with how much damage was actually inflicted on his abdomen. “How did that happen anyway? And your shoulder?” he wondered now, examining the bloody bandage.

“No-No … I don’t want to talk about it right now,” insisted Tonny through clenched teeth. He pulled Will down on the bed next to him and continued sucking, biting, and licking every inch of skin he could reach from his rigid and unmoving position on the bed.

“Why? I wanna know what happened,” urged Will, craning to look at Tonny’s body.

Tonny shook his head and slowly climbed on top of him, hissing in pain but continuing to suck at Will’s collar bone.

“Oh, come _on,”_ Will teasingly pressed.

“Nope.” Tonny was back to kissing the side of Will’s neck.

Closing his eyes, Will tried to dismiss his concern and acquiesce to Tonny’s apparently immediate needs. He continued running his tongue along Tonny’s skin as he thought back through all their previous sexual experiences together – feeling mouths and tongues – teeth and lips – their hearts racing. Some memories felt ethereal – exploring each other for the first time, inebriated or high. Some memories flooded him with anxiety, reliving nights blacking out, and physically hurting Tonny, or trips they took together when deep-seated contempt made Will unconsciously lash out in unexpected ways. It was overwhelming and jarring, and he tried to shake off the unsettling thoughts. Every past experience seemed like it should pale in comparison to this one. They had just professed their love for each other after five long years of confusion and pining. They had just been reunited after an agonizingly traumatic separation. The reality of the situation, however, was that the heartache and intensity of the last year weighted so heavily on them both that the fear and fatigue inflicted on them was simply overwhelming. Despite their unwavering desires to lose themselves within the comforting embrace of each other, the pair were mentally and physically ravaged. As Will’s mind fell back to the present, he noticed Tonny’s breath become ragged and tense, and he grew concerned.

Tonny’s mind was replaying the night of his arrest over and over, rehashing it with more benign outcomes – Will simply coming back to bed – awaking the next morning in each other’s arms – playfully celebrating their new year with mouths lovingly wrapped around each other. He imagined what their family could have done together in the last year had he not destroyed it. He was still angry with himself, but knowing he was loved by Will made his chest open and his mind temporarily abate its self-loathing. He still wanted to be a better person – no longer sick and dependant on substances to survive – but he wanted to be better for _himself,_ and not just to relieve his guilt. He wanted to be a better _version_ of himself for Will and for Aksel. And then, out of nowhere, as Tonny drifted through the endless sea of his mind, wondering who he could become, he suddenly and without warning careened back into his addiction. Obsessive thoughts invaded his mind, reminding him how much better all of this would feel if he were high. Habit made him calculate how soon he could leave – where he could find Anouk’s jewelry and Hannibal’s watch – when he could steal himself away long enough to not draw suspicion ... and he choked.

Tonny immediately and painfully sat up, still straddling Will and cradling his aching side. He tried to feign a smile at Will, who was now uneasily looking up at him, but Tonny’s strained face made him appear more deceptive than relaxed. They were sweaty and exhausted, and both their minds had been lost to their own strange, hypothetical worlds.

Will began wondering where Tonny’s mind had led him to make him appear so disturbed. He narrowed his eyes and shook his head with disappointment, knowing for sure Tonny was concealing something troubling.

Tonny averted his eyes from Will’s judgmental gaze. His face drained of lust, and he crossed his arms protectively over his chest, gripping his shoulders with his fingers. He felt far too exposed and he swiftly realized just how excruciatingly starved his weakened body was, as a nauseating hunger swept through him. He didn’t need, or even want sex with Will. He needed food and he wanted to get high. His mouth was dry and his dull eyes refused to focus on the man below him. He suddenly felt like he was trapped in some distant barren world – naked, starving and alone. Even Will’s declaration of love wouldn’t protect him from this voracious emptiness.

Will painfully watched his demeanor shift as Tonny gradually became more disoriented and insecure. Acutely feeling Tonny’s mental and physical sensitivity, Will gently trailed his hands down Tonny’s injured ribs, attempting to ground the man who seemed hopelessly adrift. Both their hearts and their minds were covered in achingly tender bruises that would require solace and sustenance to heal.

Will comfortingly gazed up at him and tried to calm Tonny’s nerves, “Time, Tonny,” he whispered, “It’s gonna take us some time to be all right again, ok? Let’s just take it slow.”

Tonny quietly nodded and carefully laid down on his side, wincing in pain. Will turned to him, gently laying his hand across Tonny’s cheek, and they stared into each other’s eyes until they felt themselves detach from their disappointment and float away.


	34. Soused into this Broth

Will awoke shivering as a cool breeze blew in from the open balcony doors. He slowly remembered falling asleep with Tonny and he sighed with relief realizing that the man was, in fact, out of prison and safe with him in their temporary home. He felt through the sheets in the darkness, but felt no body nor residual heat. He sat up, blinking his puffy eyes, and scouring the dark room, noticed a light on in the bathroom. He laid back in bed, pulling the blankets up over his still-naked body. His eyes were scratchy and his throat dry, presumably from the copious amount of crying he’d done in the last twenty-four hours, but the comfort of knowing that his family was all together was indescribable. He glanced at his phone on the nightstand – a quarter to twelve. He yawned and curled back up in the bed, waiting anxiously for Tonny to return.

After fifteen minutes of waiting, he began to worry about the myriad of potentially deadly events that could happen to a grown adult man in a bathroom in the middle of the night. He decided it was in Tonny’s best interest that he check on him. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust him – though he didn’t – but he had a strange sensation of doom wash over him, and it was not a feeling he ever took lightly.

He pulled on his pants and slowly opened the bathroom door, his eyes wincing in the bright light. He looked down at Tonny, who was dressed only in his jeans, sitting on the floor next to the toilet. Tonny’s head hung down and he was breathing heavy, wheezing heaves. He slowly looked up at Will when he entered.

“Hey,” whispered Will. Still blinking at the light. “What’s going on? You okay?”

Tonny coughed and cleared his throat. “I just,” he croaked. “I can’t get up,” he sighed. Tonny felt weak and tired, and had spent the last hour dry-heaving. He leaned over and spit in the toilet, and pawed at his itchy bloody eyes

“Throwing up?” asked Will, looking in the toilet at nothing but foaming stomach bile. “Did you eat anything yesterday?”

“No,” he groaned, leaning his head back on the wall. He was sweating and pale.

Will cleared his own throat. “Why not?” he wondered.

“Not my house,” mumbled Tonny. “And I just don’t wanna eat … I don’t know why,” he grumbled, scratching his chest. His gravelly voice was low, and Will noted that he only seemed to speak on exhales. “I’m just never hungry.”

“Okay.” Will wasn’t going to press this; Tonny looked rough. His body was soaked in sweat, but his lips were pale and dry. He was breathing shallow and his skin looked blue and sickly in the bathroom light. Will sat down on the floor next to him. “Is this a drug thing?” he asked calmly.

Tonny shook his head. “I already went through that,” he admitted. “It wasn’t that bad.” His breath was thick and he hung his head again out of exhaustion. “I just feel like shit.” His eyes drooped. “I’m so fucking tired and I can’t think.”

Will noticed fresh blood creeping out from under the bandage on Tonny’s shoulder, so he gently removed the gauze. Tonny watched him closely as Will inspected the wound – eighteen stitches held together the red swollen skin. “When did this happen?”

Tonny sighed thinking, “Week ago?”

“This should have healed by now,” he murmured to himself, looking up at Tonny. “This looks like a stab wound. Did they clean it well?”

“Yeah … they did,” he said, wearily leaning his head on the wall.

“It doesn't look infected – at least not badly. You just aren’t healing,” he stated, glancing up into Tonny’s face. Tonny’s eyes were distant, but he was trying to stay focused and listen. Will crawled over to the sink and searched the cupboard under it for anything useful. Nothing. “Hold on, I’m gonna grab something, ok?”

Tonny nodded and returned his head to the wall. He must have drifted to sleep, because Will seemed to return immediately carrying a black canvas duffel bag that held a wide variety of medical supplies.

“You’re lucky Hannibal’s always prepared for the worst,” he hesitantly smiled. “I’m gonna clean it out and put a fresh bandage on it. It’s gonna hurt, but I’m sure you’re used to that,” he grimaced at Tonny, who turned away and nodded. Will cleaned out the injury, noting that the blood was fresh and the wound wasn’t weeping, so he avoided the pain and irritation of an antiseptic. As he dried the stitches, he looked up at Tonny. The man’s eyes were sunken and closed. _What now?_ Will sighed to himself. _HIV? Hepatitis C? What fresh new hell is this?_ He wrapped clean gauze around the wound and put the med kit back together. “Hannibal can remove the stitches in a few days once it has time to heal. He should probably check your fingers too …” He peered into Tonny’s face to see if he was listening. The man’s eyes were closed; he was exhausted and in pain. Will slowly rose to put away the kit, leaving him alone. When he returned, Tonny still hadn’t moved.

He crouched down beside him and laid his hand on his shoulder. “You want to try to lie down again?” he asked. “I can help you get back to bed.”

Tonny flopped his head towards him and nodded so Will stood up. He looked down at him leaning against the wall. _Déjà vu._ He slowly helped him stand, being careful to avoid Tonny’s injured shoulder and bruised ribs, and they hobbled back to the bed. Will gently laid Tonny down and covered him up with the blankets before climbing in bed next to him. Tonny whimpered and groaned with every exhale as his hands held his side.

“Your rib hurting too?”

“Yeah,” he exhaled. His voice was full of pain. “From throwing up,” he said quickly. He could barely breathe as he winced and moaned again, “Just … lemme rest … lying down.”

“Don’t talk, Tonny. Just try to sleep, okay?”

Tonny sighed, and Will could see him attempting to slowly relax various muscle groups as his body attempted to get comfortable. His shoulders tried to go slack, his head fell deeper into the pillow, and eventually his back slowly released its tension as he settled. His breathing became shallow, but regular. Will rested his hand on Tonny’s hip, trying to figure out how to comfort him. He felt useless, and he feared that inching closer to him would jostle his abdomen, causing further irritation to his rib so he refrained from doing so.

Tonny, sensing Will’s hesitation, turned to assuage his concern. “You can get closer,” he whispered, “... please.”

Will eased towards him, pressing his chest into Tonny’s sweaty back, and nuzzled his face into his neck. Tonny softly moaned at the touch as his hand groped behind him for Will’s body. Will rested his searching hand on his leg, and the two slowly and painfully fell back asleep.

* * *

Will drifted awake to find himself warm and comfortable in bed, still lovingly cradling Tonny. As he blinked to open his dry, gritty eyes, he suddenly realized that he was still gently and rhythmically thrusting his pelvis into the back of Tonny’s body and he was flooded with the memory of the rather sexually explicit dream he’d just awoken from. Upon realizing what he was doing, he immediately froze, hoping Tonny was still asleep and unaware of the man unintentionally humping him from behind. Will waited, listening, wondering if Tonny would move, as he chastised himself for his inappropriate and insensitive behavior towards the sick and injured man next to him. It was then that he realized Tonny’s hand was gripping his thigh, pulling him against his body.

Tonny slowly turned his head to peer over his shoulder, “Don’t stop now, it was just gettin’ good,” he mumbled through a smile.

Will chuckled and kissed the back of his neck, pressing his hips firmly against him once more before speaking, “How you feeling?” he grumbled, his voice strained and gravelly.

Tonny cleared his own throat, “Like shit,” he confessed. “But I’m glad I woke up here. So, are you awake now?” he croaked. Will nodded to avoid a coughing fit. “What time is it?”

Will rolled away and checked his phone. “Four o’clock,” he croaked. _“Jesus,_ my throat. I need a drink,” he coughed. “I’m starving too.” He returned to Tonny, inspecting his face and lightly kissing him on the cheek. Will’s heart stuttered again at seeing his injuries. “You want to come downstairs with me – get something to eat? I know you haven’t eaten in days.”

Tonny rested his head back on his pillow, exhaling a moan of reluctant compliance. Will pulled on his own shirt, and was searching the floor for Tonny’s, when he suddenly had to rush to help the man attempting to sit up on his own. Tonny assured him that he was capable of standing – and walking – and after refusing to attempt to put on a shirt, the two slowly made their way downstairs.

The lights in the kitchen were already lit, so Will headed straight to the fridge. “What’ll you have?” he asked Tonny.

He grimaced, his face twisted with disgust. “I don’t want shit. Especially nothing from _that_ fridge,” he winced, leaning against the island.

Will narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “What’s wrong with Hannibal’s food?” He glanced back inside at the glass containers, assorted vegetables, bottles of wine, chilling stemware, and miscellaneous defrosted meats for tomorrow’s dinner. Nothing unusual.

“Uh, everything?” he bitterly scoffed. Will looked at him incredulously before Tonny continued. “It’s probably all poisonous or full of fucking snails.”

Will chuckled, “Ah. Well, I’ll give you that,” he grimaced himself at the thought of some of the more exotic dinners Hannibal had prepared. “He cooks with liver and kidneys a lot. You probably won’t like it.”

“Ew, gross. Fucking _shit._ Why can’t he just eat like a normal person?”

“What, like you and your _7-Eleven_ diet? Living on french fries and microwavable burritos?”

Tonny grinned, remembering a more innocent time in his life when trips to a corner convenience store for late night smokes and french fries were his only concern. “Yeah!” he smirked. That type of mystery meat sounded much more appealing to him.

Will chuckled at his glowing enthusiasm. He was a far cry from the sickly pile of sweat and blood he’d found four hours ago. The deep sleep he’d finally gotten while being held by Will had done him some good, even if the rest was meager. “Wait ...” Will stopped and looked at Tonny suspiciously. “What the hell did you eat in prison?”

Tonny eyed him, unsure why he felt suddenly defensive. “Whatever I could find or buy at the commissary,” he admitted.

“Like _ramen?”_ accused Will. His eyebrows raised and his voice turned slightly irritated.  “You lived for eight months on shit like ramen?”

Tonny had definitely heard this tone and accusation before. Will fought with him constantly about the way he ate, forcing him to eat three meals a day and at least a few vegetables a week. Tonny hated the constant badgering, but he refused to admit that he did feel and sleep much better when he fed his body more than just cigarettes and cereal. “Uh, maybe?” he confessed.

“Did you eat _any_ vegetables or fruit?” he scoffed, already knowing the answer.

Tonny stared at him, knowing that Will knew the answer to that question.

“For fuck’s sake, Tonny.” Will held his face, relief washing over him, “You’re _malnourished._ Fuck, Tonny, I wouldn’t be surprised if you have scurvy. Jesus, I thought you had hepatitis!” Will shook his head, maddened with the realization that if left alone, Tonny would probably attempt to survive on deep fried cardboard – if it was salted enough. He went to Tonny and wrapped his arms around him, comforted and relaxing with the knowledge that this was a problem he could _fix._

Confused by Will’s sudden affection, Tonny nervously chuckled but lovingly welcomed him in his arms. His hand wandered up to Will’s head and he gently pulled the man into him, closing his eyes. He basked in the warmth of Will’s attentiveness – despite it being a tad patronizing. It was blissful knowing someone was concerned for his wellbeing, even if he was certain the concern was needless and unfounded; Will was hugging him back, and that’s all that mattered. There was no greater feeling than to think of himself as being valued and wanted by another.

He could feel Will’s cool hands across his back, tenderly rubbing his sore shoulders. Tonny was still exhausted and aching but this moment had him willing to admit that life could be good again. Overcome with sentiment, he nuzzled into Will’s cheek to speak – his voice low and soft. “I love you, Will,” he whispered, completely elated that he was finally allowed to say it.

The considerable emotion in this simple hug and Tonny’s uttered phrase had not gone undetected by Will. He’d been forcing himself to acutely monitor Tonny’s emotional state since Hannibal’s declaration that he couldn’t empathized with the man. He suddenly found himself wondering, however, _why_ this simple embrace was so substantial to Tonny; and naturally, his ineptitude ruined everything.

“You shouldn’t say that _too_ much or it’ll lose all meaning,” he anxiously joked, snickering. He regretted his tone instantly upon sensing Tonny tense up and hold his breath, but no amount of internal pleading would draw those words back into Will’s regretful mouth. “Um, no. No –,” Will scrambled for words – “Whatever you’re thinking is exactly the _opposite_ of what I meant to say,” he rambled – “Shit …” He pulled away, clutching Tonny’s upper arms and inspecting his morose appearance. Tonny was certainly not laughing. His eyes stared at the floor in shame, welling up with tears, and he looked humiliated. “Y-You messed with _me_ …,” Will softly reminded, “w-when I said it to you,” – though his rebuttal sounded rather childish. He pulled Tonny back to him, pressing his face into the man’s neck. The slight resistance he felt from Tonny made his heart stutter as he chastised himself for his tendency to be a complete and utter failure at everything.

Will was now stuck – firmly wedged between being an insensitive asshole and a condescending prick, so he decided to fess up. “Tonny, I’m an insensitive fucking prick,” he flatly declared. Best to get that all out there. “But I _love_ you,” he confessed, _“I love you.”_ He breathed against Tonny’s warm skin as he racked his mind further for an appropriate apology, “And you can say that to me as _much_ as you want and _whenever_ you want –,” he insisted, slowly and emphatically, “though you probably don’t want to now.” He sighed, totally disgusted with himself. He pressed his lips to Tonny’s neck, leaving an apologetic trail of kisses up to his ear. Will’s hands released him and quickly rose to cradle Tonny’s face, as he covered the man’s cheeks and chin in kisses, attempting to assuage his pain in whatever way he could. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, but Tonny remained stoic, so Will dropped his arms in resignation and glanced around the kitchen as he faced his last resort. His eyes fell on Hannibal’s wooden knife block. He cocked his head and looked back at Tonny, who was still sullen, and staring at him. Will stepped up to the block and pulled from it a menacingly large chef’s knife, and turned around to face Tonny who was now skeptically leering at him.

Will cleared his throat to add to the dramatic effect. “I will _literally_ stab myself wherever you want me to,” he offered, his face completely deadpan. “And this is a _very_ large knife.” He fixed his blank eyes on Tonny. “It will hurt me … _a lot.”_

Tonny covered his mouth – his hand tightly suppressing his need to laugh.

“So, where do you think?” Will casually glanced around his body, pretending to search for an appropriate location to carve out his apology. “Thigh?” he suggested, “I could probably miss the artery.” Tonny’s hand was now rubbing his chin as he smirked, listening to Will. “Or … you can gut me. I’ve done that to myself countless times,” he noted, clearing his throat again. “Chest? That would be symbolically appropriate for our current situation.” He glanced back up to Tonny who smiled, his eyes now soft. Tonny slowly shook his head. “No to the chest?” noted Will. “So the gut then?” Tonny shook his head and pointed down. “Down?! You sadistic _bastard,_ ” he teased. Tonny crossed his arms over his chest, his decision final. “Goddamn it,” Will said, feigning disappointment. He set the knife on the island, shaking his head and smiling as he unbuttoned his pants. “This isn’t right. I apologized. You’re just being cruel.”

Tonny grinned and gawked at him, waiting for his pants to hit the floor.

Will paused, his thumbs hooked around the waist of his jeans. “You’re gonna humiliate the shit out of me, aren’t you?”

Tonny nodded, still smiling, and pointed to the ground.

Will’s jovial tone took on a slight serious note, “I’m _not_ turning around, though,” he declared, as he dropped his pants to the floor.

“You don’t need to,” said Tonny, finally deciding to speak. “But take everything off.”

Will clenched his jaw, “Why? Thought I was _just_ gonna castrate myself,” he snickered, pulling off his shirt, “you know, to prove my _undying_ love for you.” He laughed again nervously, stepping out of his pants.

“I thought you were hungry?” reminded Tonny, still weak and tired. He leaned back on the island next to Will.

“I am.”

“Then make something,” he ordered, nonchalantly.

“You’re fucking kidding. I’m _not_ – What if someone comes in? There are three other people–”

“Oh well,” interrupted Tonny. He kicked Will’s clothes into the darkened dining room, wincing slightly at the effort.

“You asshole …” playfully sneered Will, shaking his head.

“Love you, Will,” he grinned, his attention on everything else but Will.

Will rubbed his forehead and groaned as he snickered, “Love you too, _sweetheart,”_ he mockingly sneered. He rounded the island, hissing at the indignity of being completely naked and prancing around Hannibal’s kitchen. Although, he did note the irony of feeling embarrassed now, when every member of the household had already seen him naked at some point. He shook off the thought and opened the fridge door. “I still can’t believe you practically ate out of a vending machine for eight months.”

“What did you expect me to do? You know I don’t fucking cook,” smiled Tonny, staring at Will’s naked ass.

“Yeah, well,” began Will, sighing at the ridiculousness of this entire situation, “I didn’t expect you to prefer starving to death to scrambling a couple eggs. I _know_ they had a kitchen for you to use.”

“Uh, fuck that shit. I fucking hate eggs.” Tonny was chewing his lip and stood up straight to lecherously stare at Will’s naked body again.

Will rolled his eyes and returned his attention to the fridge. “You have to eat _something,_ , Tonny. What could you stomach. Toast? Yogurt?”

“Have you met me?” he scoffed. A wave of lightheadedness rushed through him and he stumbled. He caught himself and leaned back against the island.

Will watched him stumble and shook his head. “Tonny, pick something,” he ordered.

“Will, I’m not fucking hungry. Don’t make me eat shit. I’m gonna throw it up.”

“We’ll start with something easy. How about … french toast? Eggs, milk, bread … easy to make and you should be able to digest it. Sound ok?”

Tonny hissed and groaned at the thought, but agreed.

Will nodded, happy to have a plan, and he grabbed the milk and eggs from the fridge. “Can you get the bread? It’s in the pantry down there.” He motioned towards the bar near a picture window at the far end of the kitchen.

Tonny slowly limped his way down to a door on the other side of the fridge. “This?” he asked, pointing at the locked door.

“No, that’s the wine cellar. Further down.” He was motioning to a thin door about six feet further down the wall.

Tonny entered the pantry and retrieved the loaf of Hannibal’s fancy French bread. He couldn’t believe he was agreeing to this. He hadn’t eaten anything with substance in days. He had choked down the snacks Will had bought in Hamburg the night he stayed in the car outside, but that was hardly anything – a bag of chips and a warm coke. Tonny slowly ambled back to Will, dropping the bread on the counter next to the stove. He rounded the island, playfully grabbing a handful of Will’s naked ass and squeezing hard enough to feel him flinch with a stifled hiss.

Will glared at Tonny’s flirtatious smirk as he rubbed his chin, attempting to ignore him. “So,” he began, hoping to get some of the less enjoyable conversations out of the way now, “You want to talk about what happened to you in Denmark?”

Tonny rubbed the back of his head. “Not fucking really. You know what I know. I never did figure out why I was gettin’ jumped.”

“No, I mean, the other stuff – daily stuff. Like how you stayed sane without any support.” Will looked at him with eyes still full of regret.

“I don’t know, Will. It was hard. Took it one day at a time, I guess.” Tonny scratched his neck nervously. He didn’t really want to talk about this. “Thought a lot. Talked to myself a lot. But it’s over now.”

“It’s gonna stick with you a long time, Tonny. That’s a lot of suffering for one person to go through. I’m sure it was more than just _hard.”_ Will swallowed back his own thoughts and feelings of Tonny’s physical and mental torment. “I don’t want to imagine how you felt. I mean, you tried to kill yourself for fuck’s sake – that’s not something to just ignore.” Will’s hands were occupied making their early morning meal, and he was using the task to keep his eyes focused anywhere but Tonny’s.

“I don’t know, it’s just something I don’t want to think about right now.”

Will nodded, understanding his reluctance. “I get that. But I want you to feel free to talk about it whenever you’re ready. Don’t bottle that shit up – it’s volatile. I don’t want you feeling alone, ok? You’re _not_ alone.” He sighed, and went back to methodically dipping bread slices into the mixture of eggs and milk, then setting each piece on a plate while the pan warmed on the stove.

A deep aching sigh at Will’s words had Tonny pressing lightly on his tender side. He looked at the floor, somehow feeling ashamed of what he was about to say to the naked and vulnerable man in front of him. “I was really mad at you,” he confessed, his voice almost a mumble. “I mean, I still am, kind of.” He looked back up at Will, his sunken eyes now fiery with memories of his rage-filled thoughts while imprisoned.

Will slowly nodded his head and noted the violent anger hiding right behind Tonny’s dilating pupils. The injuries to his face seemed to intensify the anger. He dropped his gaze and focused on the pile of soggy bread he was making, disconcerted by Tonny’s admission.

Tonny noticed how uncomfortable this was making Will, but he’d been quite uncomfortable himself stuck in that nightmare, so he wasn’t sure how much he actually cared. He picked up and inspected the chef’s knife still on the counter. It was razor sharp and gleamed under the kitchen lights. His attention was grabbed by his own image reflected in the knife. His bloody, demonic eyes stared back at him, and he studied them as he spoke, “All I could think about was how much I wanted to kill you,” he confessed, “and that’s not really something I’m ready to talk about.”

Tonny was still gripping and entranced by the knife. Will stared at him, anxiety unintentionally filling his body, and he nervously cleared his throat. “You _can_ though. I-I mean, if you aren’t ready yourself, I completely understand, but don’t hold back because of me. I don’t deserve your, uh … _restraint.”_ That was probably not the best word to use, but Will was growing anxious and was still fumbling through his mind for a response to Tonny’s disclosure. “I was really, _really_ wrong to not reach out to you more. I barely even called you. And that had to make you feel abandoned, and I’m so sorry for that.” Should he beg forgiveness? Panic was beginning to take over.

Tonny’s sighing breath fogged the knife, which suddenly broke his concentration on the reflection of his eyes. He slowly set the knife on the counter and diverted his focus to the bread sizzling in the pan. The sickeningly sweet smell of the warming food was nauseating him. “I don’t –” he began, swallowing back bile, “I don’t really want to think about this right now, Will. Can we stop talking about it?” he asked, his voice pained and weak.

Will fully appreciated the agony creeping across Tonny’s face and promptly dropped the subject. It was too raw – still too painful for them both – and he regretted pushing the subject this far, especially in his physically vulnerable state. There was a lot that Will felt he would never understand about what happened to Tonny in prison, despite his growing desire to do so. _Time,_ he thought. _You said it yourself ... give him time._ This whole ordeal was taking on a strange and intensely hostile element, and he had no idea how to redirect its course.

Will plated the hot french toast and handed a serving to Tonny, who stared at it like it was a pile of rotten meat.

“Just try,” he urged, retrieving maple syrup from the cupboard. “Drown it in sugar; that’ll help.” He tried to smile, but it looked more like a nervous grimace.

Tonny poured the syrup over the bread and set his plate on the island, glaring at it. “I really don’t want to, Will,” he whispered, shaking his head. He didn’t want to throw up again – his rib couldn’t take it. And the idea of putting _anything_ in his stomach was making his mouth water with a sour metallic taste.

“Stress, anxiety, depression, addiction – it’s all making you sick, Tonny. You’ll feel better if you eat, ok?” He suddenly turned to the fridge. “You’re probably dehydrated too. That’ll make your brain foggy.” He grabbed a glass bottle of water from the fridge and set it down next to Tonny’s plate.

“The fuck’s that?” he scoffed, eyeing the bottle.

“Fancy water,” laughed Will. He watched Tonny roll his eyes. “Actually –,” Will returned to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of orange juice, pouring Tonny a large glassful. He set it next to the water. “In case it’s scurvy,” he grinned. Tonny shook his head and stared at his plate. “Would you eat a pile of french fries?” Will asked, smiling playfully.

Tonny bit his lip, deliberating. “Probably,” he realized, leaning back to admire Will’s naked body again.

“Are you thinking of eating fries off my ass now?” he teased.

“Maybe,” he smiled, eyeing him again.

“If it helps you to eat, I can make that sacrifice,” he snickered.

Tonny chuckled and hesitantly took a bite of french toast.

“There, see? Not so bad.” Will sighed with relief at seeing Tonny eat, and took a bite from his own plate. The delicate aroma of sweet vanilla had already caught in his nose and it was making his mouth water. The french bread was mild and soft, and he was enjoying the rich  mélange of cinnamon and buttermilk that melted across his tongue. Every morsel released a deliciously buttery and eggy sweetness. The thick rich maple syrup intensified the flavor, making it feel almost too over-indulgent for such a late night snack.  
  
Tonny slowly chewed the lump of pasty wet bread. It flopped over his tongue like a wad of sweet, chunky snot. He grimaced and suppressed a gag before forcing himself to swallow it down like he had a mouthful of vomit with nowhere to spit.

“How is it?” asked Will, who had already finished his serving.

Tonny poked at the remainder of the bread on his plate. “It’s, uh … it’s good, Will. Thanks,” he winced.

Will smiled at him and began cleaning up the kitchen. He felt totally sure he’d managed to fix this problem. He quickly began cleaning up the dishes and putting away the eggs and milk in a hasty effort to get his clothes back on and head up stairs.

Unbeknownst to Will, Tonny was staring at his back, watching Will’s attention shift to the dishes and the mess of the kitchen. Tonny watched him intently, slowly and silently making his way to the trash can on the other side of the island to quietly dump the remaining food off his plate.

A questioning voice suddenly boomed from the bar at the end of the kitchen. “What are you _doing?”_

A crash erupted from the floor as Will jumped back and dropped his plate on the tile. “What the _fuck!?”_ he shrieked at Hannibal who stood lurking at the far end of the island. Hannibal noted the egg and milk mess all over the counter before his eyes shifted to Will’s naked body. Will was aghast. “Where the _fuck_ did you come from?!” he shrieked, as he scrambled around the island to cover himself.

Hannibal casually nodded to the wine cellar door next to the fridge.

“Jesus _christ,”_ Will’s heart was still racing as he scanned the floor for his clothes.

Tonny, oddly enough, was not so shocked to see Hannibal sneaking around. It could just have been the malnourishment slowing his reaction times, but he had always been on edge around the man. Ever since arriving at his home he seemed to be on constant high alert. “Why were you in the cellar?” he asked bluntly, completely ignoring Will, who was still scrambling around looking for his clothes.

“What are you doing in my kitchen?” repeated Hannibal, intensely glaring at Tonny.

“Will’s making fucking _food_.” Tonny’s hostility towards him was still very raw.

Hannibal scoffed, obviously perturbed. “Why are you _naked?”_ He peered around the island at Will.

“He was being a dick, so I punished him,” snapped Tonny, his voice loud and aggressive.

“Now wait just a goddamn minute,” ordered Will as he stood up. Having failed to find his clothes, he covered himself with a hand towel. “Punished? Um, no. No –” He turned to looked at Hannibal, wrinkling his forehead with disgust at Tonny’s description of what happened. “He’s not _punishing_ me,” he insisted, “I said something _stupid_ and this was my – you know what? It doesn’t matter.”

 _“Punishment,”_ repeated Tonny, finishing Will’s sentence. His sneering gaze returned to Hannibal, “He was being a _prick_ so I made him take his clothes off,” he smirked proudly, trying to annoy them both.

“Um, fuck you, too!” snapped Will, suddenly remembering Tonny kicking his clothes into the dining room. He scurried into the darkened room and quickly dressed.

Hannibal contemptuously glared at the state of the kitchen. Now confronted with the bizarre behavior of his two guests, he became greatly concerned with Will’s mental state. Will rejoined them, nervously fixing his glasses and attempting to pretend everything was normal.

“I still don’t understand why you’re down here,” prodded Hannibal.

“It’s a kitchen. We were hungry. Get it?” Tonny was not in a mood to be particularly well-mannered.

“Okay, okay. _Stop,”_ ordered Will, noticing the mounting hostility and finally stepping in. “Tonny was sick and I was hungry, so we came down to get something to eat. There was some miscommunication, but –” he shook his head, ”um, not a huge mystery. We just had a snack. I hope we didn’t wake you up.”

Tonny snickered at Will’s remarks, turning to Hannibal and chuckling, “What the fuck are you anyway, a goddamn vampire? Does he _sleep_ in the fucking cellar?” He glanced back at Will, jabbing his thumb in Hannibal’s direction and laughing. Will realized he had misspoken, but furrowed his brow with genuine curiosity as to what Hannibal _was_ doing in the cellar at four o’clock in the morning. It seemed quite suspicious.

Hannibal shook his head. “I was working,” he stated flatly.

“You’re _working_ in a _cellar_ at four in the morning? What the _fuck_ are you working on – dismembering a _body?”_ he mocked through his laughter.

Hannibal ominously chuckled at Tonny’s insolence. “The vagaries of keeping a wine cellar’s inventory in order are probably not of interest to you.” His voice suddenly deepened and intensified, “But you’re welcome to join me down there the next time I take stock,” he threatened, stepping towards Tonny.

Tonny straightened up and sneered at Hannibal, who was now mere feet away. “No _fuckin’_ way,” he asserted sharply. He hated how much Hannibal dominated and demanded the attention of everyone in every room he was in. He constantly managed to make him feel insignificant.

Hannibal casually reached behind Tonny, retrieving the chef’s knife off the counter, and held it between them. “This isn’t a _toy,”_ he snapped, dropping it back into the knife block with a scraping thud.

“Okay, that’s enough,” said Will. “I’m cleaning up the mess now, and we already finished eating. No harm, no foul.”

Hannibal cocked his head. “Maybe _you_ finished, Will, but Tonny here just dumped his plate in the garbage.” He smirked at Tonny.

“You fucking _dick,”_ he growled. _What a fucking asshole._ The rage he felt towards Hannibal was quickening his pulse, and Tonny slowly blinked his eyes, beginning to feel faint.

“Wait, you didn’t eat it?” accused Will. “Tonny you have to eat something! For fuck’s sake!” He examined the french toast lying now in the trash can, pissed that his effort was not only wasted, but that Tonny still hadn’t eaten anything in days.

The mention of Tonny’s appetite piqued Hannibal’s interest. “Are you having a problem eating?” he asked, now curious as to what was _actually_ going on here, apart from Will’s sudden and unexpected lack of modesty. He stared at the pair, who now seemed intensely uncomfortable with one another.

“He’s eaten _nothing_ for days. He’s malnourished and vomiting up bile. The idiot’s refusing food and his body’s so goddamn stressed it can’t even heal anymore!” exclaimed Will, exasperated and embarrassed by the whole ordeal.

“ _Idiot_ , Will? Fuck you!” snarled Tonny. “I feel like shit! I don’t want to eat ‘cause it makes me wanna fucking puke!”

Hannibal held up his hands. “Calm down. _Both_ of you,” he insisted loudly, his impatience growing. “Tonny, what do you think you could eat?”

“Nothing. I don’t want anything,” he insisted.

Hannibal glanced at Will, who gave him a cocky smile and shrugged his shoulders. “Work with me, Tonny,” demanded Hannibal. “Obviously you don’t want bread. Do you think you could drink something?”

“I don’t know. As long as it’s not thick like fucking _snot.”_ He remembered the wad of french toast and gagged. Will winced, feeling slightly insulted by Tonny’s description of the meal he had prepared him. _Naked, no less._

Hannibal continued. “Could you sip soup, or stock, or something along those lines?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?” he admitted, but still he cringed at the thought of consuming anything.

Hannibal looked back at Will. “I have stock, if you want to try it.” Will held up his hands, signifying that he had _nothing_ to do with this exchange, and pointed at Tonny. Hannibal huffed his annoyance and returned his gaze to his son. “Would you try? At least until you get your appetite back.”

“What’s it made out of?” asked Tonny, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

“It’s veal stock, Tonny,” he sighed. “I make my own demi-glace. We are in France after all.” Tonny, still irked at Will for calling him an idiot, nodded to Hannibal, agreeing to try it – whatever it was.

“Really? You’ll drink his fucking _stock?_ Hannibal’s? After what you said earlier?” scoffed Will, glaring at him.

Hannibal was intrigued by this exchange. “What did he say earlier?” he inquired, cocking his head.

“Nevermind,” dismissed Will, continuing to wipe down the counters.

“I said I don’t trust any of the fuckin’ food in your fridge.”

“Why is that, exactly?” Hannibal raised his eyebrows, interested to know what had made Tonny draw his conclusion.

“You like _weird_ shit,” explained Tonny, not sure why he felt compelled to say that. How could the man not know that he served _weird shit?_

Hannibal smiled at his curt response. “Fair enough.” He opened his fridge and removed a jar of dark brown, gelatinous liquid. “I’ll warm it up for you. It’s not as strong as a beef stock, but the flavor is subtle and clean,” he explained, pulling out a saucepan. “Though I’m not sure why I’m even bothering to explain the taste, since you have no idea what beef or veal stock would _actually_ taste like.” Hannibal now began to realize how much he needed to sleep after his late night occupied in his cellar. Tonny only narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously in reply. Hannibal turned to set down the pan and was forced to stop short in order to wait for Will to finish wiping down the stove. “Please, Will,” he snapped, growing even more irked with them both. “Go stand with Tonny.” Will only vaguely protested before joining Tonny as instructed.

Hannibal slowly warmed the stock on the stove, occasionally glancing up at Tonny who was oddly intrigued by this process – though mostly he was just trying to spite Will. “Do you know how one makes stock?” Hannibal asked Tonny. He shook his head. “This is a brown veal stock. The bones are roasted, then simmered for several hours with herbs, spices, and vegetables. For this stock – which I have been adding to your son’s rice – I’ve caramelized the vegetables. It gives it a richer flavor.”

“Rice?” questioned Tonny.

“I don’t know. He just likes it,” Will shrugged. “It was Hannibal’s idea to cook it in broth so he’s getting more nutrients. We’ve had a lot of dietary issues with Aksel since he’s been here.” He hadn’t really had time to discuss their son’s particular eating issues, but now that Tonny apparently shared in that nonsense, they would have a lot more to talk about.

“Not broth. _Stock_ ,” Hannibal firmly corrected. Will only glared at him. “A broth is made from cooking meats in liquid. A stock is made with bones.”

“Then why does everyone call it _bone broth?"_  sneered Will.

Hannibal shook his head, clearly disgusted. “It’s a misnomer used by the uneducated masses. Calling it _bone broth_ is just a fad, Will. Anyone who has cooked a day in their life would just call it _stock_ . Now, the French obviously call it _bouillon,_ which does mean broth, but they define broth as a cooking liquid created from bones – so it makes sense.” He seemed irked that he had to explain any of this, as he was exhausted and in no mood to give culinary lessons to either of them.

Will scoffed at Hannibal’s patronizing tone. _Fucking food snob._

When the _stock_ was fully heated, Hannibal added a pinch of salt and poured it into a cup. He set it in front of Tonny, who took it doubtfully.

“This isn’t going to poison me, right? Or make me hallucinate or something?” he asked, staring into the cup.

Hannibal smiled at Tonny’s hesitation. “No, Tonny. I save _those_ beverages for much more important guests than you,” he seemed to joke.

Tonny sneered at him, but slowly sipped the liquid. It was not nearly as strongly flavored as he was expecting. He nodded his head. “That’s not bad,” he admitted, smirking at Will.

 _“Wonderful,”_ Will mocked with contempt. He knew he should have been happy to see his _love_ happily accepting a nutritious drink that would give him both strength and hydration, but the sudden appearance of a tentative bond between the two brought on a jealous twinge deep in Will’s psyche.

They all stood silently in the kitchen, an amused Hannibal staring intently at Tonny as he drank. Each restorative sip of the warm liquid became easier to take in, but Tonny quickly became  concerned with the amount of attention Hannibal was keeping on him and his meal.

“You fucking poisoned this didn’t you?” insisted Tonny, narrowing his eyes.

Hannibal relaxed and smiled. “I did no such thing, Tonny, though I can’t attest to the manner in which the calf died. That was out of my hands. Perhaps _he_ was poisoned,” he chuckled. “If that were the case, then who knows what’s in your drink? Any manner of drugs, I suppose.”

Tonny looked in his cup, unnerved. _That was a weird fucking thing to say._ He looked over at, Will who was staring at Hannibal with a perplexed look on his face.

“I’m tired, Tonny. Just drink it. It’s not poisoned,” insisted Hannibal.

By the time Tonny had finished his drink, Hannibal had the entire kitchen clean and back in order. “Gentlemen, as it’s now –” Hannibal peered at his watch, “– almost _six,_ I afraid I must go to bed,” he said, drying his hands at the sink.

“Good night,” Will said to Hannibal, who was about to correct him when Tonny piped up.

“Good _morning_ , Hannibal,” he chimed, staring at Will, clearly amused with himself.

Will shook his head with disgust. “God, you’re _both_ insufferable …” he said under his breath. “I’m going to bed,” he declared, and quickly headed out of the kitchen. Tonny turned to follow.

“Tonny,” called Hannibal, stopping him from following Will. “You saw how I warmed up the stock and added salt.” Tonny nodded in response. “Feel free to drink as much as you want. I’m always making more, and you are _always_ welcome to eat whatever you want from my kitchen, without exception.”

To say that Tonny was bewildered by these statements would be putting it mildly. Was Hannibal being … kind? Generous? Gracious? To … _him?_ Tonny crossed his arms over his bare chest as a wave of vulnerability swept over him again. He slowly nodded his understanding. “Uh, thanks,” he stated. “If I don’t puke, I might take you up on that,” he said, slowly backing away from him.

Hannibal smiled and watched as Tonny hurriedly stumbled from the kitchen, and listened carefully as the man bounded up the stairs behind Will. He sighed, and figured if he was going to be forced to suffer through these constant intrusions to his life and home, he may as well enjoy himself. He was in fact rather delighted with Tonny’s appreciation of his stock – whether it was _actually_ made with veal … or not.


	35. Horned Demons with Great Scourges

It had been almost three weeks since Tonny had rejoined his family. Guilt and remorse were unfortunately not strangers to their new home, and Tonny had been right – it felt exactly like a strange continuation of his prison sentence. Feeling obligated to be gracious towards Hannibal was humiliating. Aksel was painfully distant and nervous around him, making him feel like an utter failure. Unfortunately, his son had also refused to sleep with both him and Will, forcing Tonny to stay in a separate guest room down the hall, locked away from his family once again. Occasionally his son would sleep with Anouk or get up early to go downstairs, and Tonny would find his way to Will’s bedroom so the two could be alone. Will, however, still felt very different to him – aloof, stressed, and bizarrely obsessed with catching the Ripper.

The pair were, however, gradually rebuilding what they had, but it was painfully slow and awkward. Tonny was still feeling random symptoms of withdrawal, mainly the pangs of cravings as they crept into his mind at weak moments, but even _these_ feelings were slowly subsiding as he found his attention focusing more on Will. He was regaining strength with Hannibal’s prescribed diet, and his appetite was gradually returning. His wounds were finally healing and Hannibal had already removed many of his sutures. Things seemed to be improving, but Tonny felt like he needed a distraction. He was craving a new, and intimate, change to their now admitted relationship, and he was hoping Will was amenable.

He glanced over at Will lying next to him in the bed. Will was still naked and on his stomach, his head turned away from Tonny, who watched his back slowly rise and fall with steady, sleeping breaths.

Tonny leaned over and kissed his shoulder, sliding down Will’s body to gently lay his head on his back. He closed his eyes and felt himself rise with Will’s soothing breaths as his hands found their way across Will’s skin. _Why does this have to be so fucking hard for us?_ he thought. _Haven’t we all suffered enough?_ The previous night they had tried, and failed yet again, to soothe and enjoy each other’s bodies. Losing physical intimacy, after losing trust and dependency, was almost unbearable. Tonny delicately kissed down his skin, then carefully avoided disturbing the exhausted man as he climbed over him. He continued kissing and licking across Will’s lower back as he settled his knees between Will’s thighs, lightly pushing them apart.

He slowly slid his hands up to Will's shoulders, faintly trailing his fingernails across his skin. He could hear Will's breath soften as he sighed at the affectionate touch. Tonny hesitantly grasped Will's hips, lustfully staring down at him, gripping and palming his flesh before returning his hands to Will’s shoulders. He slowly laid his chest on Will's back and pressed his lips to his neck, savoring this erotically enticing position. He carefully worked his hand under Will's stomach in an attempt to fondle him awake, as his knees worked Will's thighs farther apart.

“What the hell are you doing?” interrupted Will, craning around to sneer incredulously at Tonny behind him.

“I promise I’ll go slow, Will,” Tonny whispered, still kissing his back and groping under him.

“Um, no _,”_ Will refused, disgusted by Tonny’s brazen presumption. “For fuck’s sake, Tonny, no _,”_ he scolded, warily eyeing him.

“Can you just let me show you, though? Just try it?” he pleaded, still whispering, still kissing. “I found stuff we can use.”

“What?! No!” snapped Will, struggling to turn himself over with Tonny still between his legs.

Tonny propped himself up, sighing in frustration. “Please, Will? Come on. I promise you’ll like it.”

“I said no _,_ now get the fuck off me!” he hollered, shoving him away from his body.

Tonny dropped back down to the bed beside him with a huff. He stared at the ceiling, disappointed and utterly rejected. “What the fuck, Will?” he sighed, irritated with Will’s unwillingness to even listen to him. “We have to fucking talk about this shit. And I don’t mean you just saying _I don't want to,_ over and over again,” he demanded, his voice faltering with nervousness, “That's a stupid fucking reason. And you told me to stop lying to you, so don’t get all pissed at me for saying that.”

Will was not awake enough for an argument of this magnitude first thing in the morning. His mind barely functioned mid-day. He gritted his teeth and turned to sneer at Tonny. “Are you giving me an ultimatum _,_ Tonny?” he asked accusingly, his voice now belligerent. He was glaring at the side of Tonny’s anxious face. “I have to let you fuck me? Or what, you’re gonna leave? Gonna sleep in the car again? I don’t have to let you do _shit_ to me. And I’m not going to argue about this again. Get over it.”

Tonny growled with resentment and rubbed his face. “I'm just trying to _talk_ to you about what I want, Will.”

“Trying to _talk_ to me? That didn’t feel like talking, Tonny,” he interjected with a scoff.

“Well every fucking time I try to talk, you get pissed and won’t listen to me. I’m wasn’t gonna force you – fuck, why would you even think that? – But can you at least see how much I fucking wanna do it? I’m talking five fucking years, Will, and nothin’. _”_

“Complaint noted … again,” snapped Will dismissively, rolling on his side to face away from him. He was done with this shit.

“You’re a fucking prick _,”_ sneered Tonny.

Will rolled back over, glaring at him. “Why does this always have to be a fight with you?” He shook his head in exasperation. “Why can’t you just accept the fact that I say no? _Every goddamn time!”_

“Because you treat me like shit! And you never give me a goddamn reason why you don’t want to! You just make up some bullshit about it being _your_ fucking body …” Tonny scoffed, shaking his head, “I’m sick of it!” He was back to angrily glaring at the ceiling again.

“Well I'm not gonna apologize for not allowing you to add _sexual assault_ to your ever-growing rap sheet, Tonny,” scoffed Will, the contempt in his voice steadfast.

Tonny painfully glared at Will before rolling out of bed and storming to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. After several loud crashes, the room grew silent, and Will added _violent outbursts_ to his internal list of offenses instead. He grumbled under his breath, pulling the sheets back over his body.

Will had never understood why this was so ridiculously important to Tonny. It seemed so trivial and stupid considering the myriad of other options they had available in their sexual relationship. Of course, very few of those options were currently being explored, since neither one of them were fully appreciative of the other’s current psychological or physical needs. But why weren't his mouth and hand good enough for him? He wasn’t an expert, obviously, but was he so terrible that Tonny found no pleasure in anything he did for him? Will was more than happy with Tonny’s agile tongue and warm palms exploring his body. He always had been. He didn’t need or want anything more than that.

But Will fully recognised the fact that Tonny had a different set of sexual standards than him – ones that Will found dangerous and wildly irresponsible, especially after hearing more about Tonny’s youth. He had no idea how Tonny had escaped being perpetually stricken with sexually transmitted diseases or why he’d only been responsible for a single unplanned pregnancy. The man would literally sleep with anything that offered him sexual release, and Will found this behavior reckless and completely unrelatable. Will had far higher standards than Tonny, and yet here he was – engaged in a sexual relationship with someone as irresponsible as the man currently tearing up his bathroom.

This argument of Tonny’s was one Will was quite familiar with. They had it several times a year and it always ended the same – Will remained resolute, offered no alternatives, and Tonny was left to deal with his disappointment on his own. Tonny hadn’t left him then, so why would he leave him now? Of course, was this logic unfair? Yes. Was it cruel? Will didn’t think so. And wouldn’t he always have the option to say _no_ to Tonny and his unwanted sexual advances? Of course he did. But being less articulate, Tonny had never been able to word his argument so as to convince Will to even listen to his side of the debate, let alone agree to it. Will, naturally, knew Tonny didn’t have the vocabulary to argue succinctly and eloquently, so he was never forced to face the reasoning behind his own hesitation.

Now, physically, Will didn’t have a specific argument with Tonny’s suggestions. He understood the mechanics well enough – _better than Tonny,_ he surmised – and nothing about the activity bothered him. But psychologically, he struggled a great deal. The internal conflict he faced just to begin a relationship with Tonny was enough to send him into psychological turmoil – and indeed it had. He still struggled with even naming Tonny’s relationship to himself, other than to still refer to the man as his _employee_. They had no terms of endearment for each other besides their facetious and often demeaning _honeys_ and _sweethearts_. They shared no affection publicly, though Will knew this had always bothered Tonny. He seemed to be in a complete state of denial about everything … but _only_ in regard to _Tonny._ A problem arose when he considered the possibility of having a relationship, sexual or otherwise, with _Hannibal._ _This_ idea was not one with which he struggled so intensely. Knowing Hannibal didn’t _desire_ a public relationship may have been helpful, but the main component that differed from his relationship with Tonny, was the unwavering _respect_ he had for the doctor. He struggled immensely with respecting Tonny, and this directly correlated with his trust in him and his comfort with their relationship.

Will knew he didn’t want to lose Tonny, and he knew he cared about the man, but beyond that, he felt somewhat apathetic about their relationship. On the other hand, he derived a copious amount of pleasure from his conversations with Hannibal. He thoroughly enjoyed Hannibal’s company, his body, and even the man’s food. But was it equal to the sexual gratification he received from Tonny? At the moment, he and Tonny were neither receiving nor giving sexual pleasure to one another. And on this point, Will was left wondering – What was his motivation for staying with him? Tonny had admitted months ago to being unhappy and unfulfilled with their relationship. Did Will truthfully feel the same? It was a question Tonny had posed to him just a day before his arrest.

So, what did Tonny offer him? Tonny offered Will antagonism; but then again, so did Hannibal. He offered physical comfort; but again, so did Hannibal. Tonny offered a constant struggle to communicate – which Will did _not_ really enjoy – but he also offered playful banter and of course, his son – a contribution that, Will found, trumped all else. But was the child enough to sustain an entire relationship? _Jokes and their mutual love of Aksel._ Was it enough? Will had had almost an entire year to mull this over, yet he hadn’t given it a second thought, and now, he was left mulling over how he felt about Tonny, mid-fight with him, over a topic he was _so_ tired of discussing.

Did he pity Tonny? Absolutely. Did he find him embarrassing? Most of the time. But what was he supposed to do now? He had forgotten why he even told the man he loved him three weeks ago. It had been in a moment of panic, and Tonny had just divulged his attempted suicide. They had done nothing but fight since then – arguing about food, Will’s time spent researching the Ripper, Tonny’s past, Aksel’s responsibilities, and now … sex? Will, having had time to think, was now regretting what he said, because it felt like a lie. It felt like something he was _supposed_ to say. How could he truly love someone that he fought with constantly? Unfortunately, he knew Tonny felt otherwise, and every time he had to mutter those words back, his gut knotted with compunction.

Will was mid-contemplation when Tonny emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed and unable to make eye contact. He sat in a chair to pull on his boots.

“Where are you going?” asked Will.

Tonny debated answering him at all. “I don’t know. Anywhere but this fucking room,” he grumbled.

Will sat up on the edge of the bed, pulling the sheet over his naked lap, scrambling to think of a way to calm the obviously agitated man. “Look,” he began, consciously tempering the antagonism in his voice, “I don’t know what to say anymore. Everything feels … horrible, and wrong, and like its all fucked up.” He watched Tonny pull on his boots and look up at him, annoyed and bitter. “My mind keeps turning – I don’t know – _negative,_ and I feel very antagonistic … but I don’t think I mean to be.”

“You’re hanging around that asshole too much.”

Will smiled, “Yeah. That’s true.”

Tonny sighed and leaned forward in the chair. “I’m not fucking fighting with you _anymore._ I’m so goddamn close to losing my shit. And right now … ” He trailed off, shaking his head and gritting his teeth.

Will nodded, averting his eyes from Tonny’s clenched fists. “Do, uh, you wanna go for a walk? Just talk?”

“I kind of want to get the fuck away from _you.”_

That comment stung Will far more than he would’ve expected. “What if I don’t say _anything_ negative? _Nothing.”_

“I thought you wanted to talk?” he said in total seriousness, his face emotionless. “I’ve never heard you say anything _not_ negative.”

Will nervously smiled, still averting his eyes, “First time for everything, right?”

Tonny stood and headed to the door, debating if he could even handle a talk with Will. He stopped and turned to him, reluctantly agreeing. “But if you start bitching at me – I’m _gone,”_ he snapped and slammed the door behind him.

Will nodded to the empty room. He quickly threw on clothes and met up with Tonny outside the front door. Tonny was on his third cigarette as he leaned against the stone wall, looking out over the hills of golden grape leaves. Will zipped up his coat, and the pair made their way out towards the rows of vines. They walked, silently, across the dry, yellowing grass of the yard, peering out over the vineyard and farmland that surrounded the house. After another ten minutes of ambling around the property, they headed towards the large hill that Tonny had sat upon the day after his release. They began their ascent of the hill with Will obsessively rubbing his neck, and Tonny still chain-smoking.

“First impression of me,” asked Will half-heartedly, trying to bring back some familiarity.

Tonny scoffed at Will’s annoying attempt to be affable, “I thought you were crazy, and I was fucking right.”

Will glanced at the ground, embarrassed. “Be nice,” he whispered as they continued to slowly climb the hill.

Tonny cleared his throat and spat on the ground, glaring at Will. “You looked like a fucking mess.” He glanced away as he continued, “But you acted like you wanted to help me and Aks, and you were so fucking lonely it was pathetic. You could see it in your face how lonely you were.” He took a long drag off his cigarette as he anxiously remembered watching Will hop out of his truck and enter the homeless shelter, recalling the feeling of Will’s eyes locking on him from across the room. He shuddered, but proceeded, “I saw that same look in the mirror every goddamn day of my motherfucking life. And I thought – I _stupidly_ thought,” he angrily corrected, “that if this guy’s for real, we might actually make it … and maybe we wouldn’t have to be so fucking lonely anymore.”

Will rubbed his forehead, anxiously remembering their first weeks together. “And if I _had_ been crazy?”

“I was willing to accept being chopped up by a psychopath,” Tonny snickered to himself. “Had to be better than staying with those women at the shelter.” Tonny smiled faintly, remembering the batty but sweet women that continually fawned over his infant son. Will snickered himself as Tonny continued, “I don’t really need to ask what you thought of me. You said I looked like a, what? Pissed off version of the asshole?” He exhaled a cloud of smoke and inspected his almost-spent cigarette, mulling over his hatred for being compared to that motherfucker.

Will nodded in agreement. He’d actually found Tonny very physically attractive in a confusing and all-together worrying way, but he refused to divulge that information for fear of pissing off the already temperamental man. He’d found extreme comfort in Tony’s eyes, and despite the vulgarity and unfamiliar accent, his voice had brought him a strange and incomprehensible peace.

“When did you know you loved Aksel?” asked Tonny, puffing on yet another cigarette.

“The first night you got shitfaced on shots after the dog attack.” Will’s face grew tender and nostalgic. “I brought Aks in my room and he woke up in the middle of the night. He made me realize that I wanted a family, and that he’d make a beautiful addition to one.” He looked over at Tonny, who refused eye-contact.

“Yeah, but that meant you had to take _me,_ right?” he scoffed, bitterly. “You wanted the son … but had to fuck around with the father to get him.”

Will stared at the ground, somewhat sickened, or possibly just acutely aware of the bizarrely parallel meaning hidden in Tonny’s words. He was having a hard time breathing after the remark, so he stopped to collect himself. “I-I was ok with that, though,” he finally mustered.

“You were ok with it _then_ , maybe.” Tonny stopped as well and sighed, discouraged and nervous. They had reached the top of the hill, where they could peer into the empyreal sky surrounding them. The beauty of the crimson red atmosphere was striking and surreal, and the two became momentarily enraptured by the early morning sun shining across the French countryside. Will was captivated by the sight, but even the majesty of the otherworldly realm around them couldn’t suppress the darkness that loomed directly above them.

“It’s ok if you’re done, Will,” declared Tonny, shattering the silence as they stared out over the valley. “You don’t have to keep hangin’ on to this.” He rubbed his eyes in an attempt to force back his tears. He finally lowered his hands and continued, “You can still see Aksel, Will. I won’t take him from you.”

Will’s mind scrambled to understand Tonny’s statement, wanting to reject both his words and the situation unfolding before him. His face slackened, stricken with disbelief, though he attempted to compose himself. _This can’t be happening again._ He felt trapped, and could already feel the loneliness of Tonny’s absence. “Th-This wasn’t what we were supposed to talk about,” he choked out, covering his mouth. He stared at the ground, swallowing back his denial. “We-We were suppose to joke around. We were supposed to fix this.” His voice cracked and he raised his hand now to shield his eyes from Tonny.

Tonny turned away from Will’s emotional response, shaking his head solemnly, his gaze falling on the horizon. “I don’t know what we’re trying to fix, Will. There isn’t a name for the fucked up situation we’re in.” He anxiously puffed his cigarette as he slowly turned to Will, his voice steady and stern. “I know what it’s not, though; It’s _not_ a fucking relationship.” He paused, gathering strength. “And I think I’m done.”

Will felt the wind get kicked out of him, and he knelt down on the ground. Of all the things he wanted, this was not one of them. _This_ he couldn’t handle again. He immediately regretted every ill thought he’d ever had about Tonny as his mind began rapidly hashing out every possible loophole in Tonny’s logic that could escape this inevitability.

Tonny huffed in disgust and rushed to him, grabbing his arms. “No, Will!” he snapped, growing angry and embittered by Will’s collapse. “You get the fuck _up!”_ he demanded, violently forcing him back to his feet.

Will shook his head, his eyes closed, now barely standing. He was blindsided and dizzy, moments away from passing out.

“You don’t get to keep doing this!” he shouted in his face, “You don’t get to keep making me pick up your sorry ass when you decide you aren’t fucking ready for this!”

“But you _said_ you wanted to stay together. That’s what you _said,_ ” he argued through his tightly closed eyes.

“I said that a _year_ ago!” he snapped. “I was fucking _arrested!”_ His voice became shrill as it rose in frustration, “And you left me in prison, where I got the _shit_ kicked out of me for _eight fucking_ months, Will! I’m allowed to change my fucking mind!”

Will could barely form words. Tonny’s anger and frustration seeped into him and he was a muddled, confused, pathetic mess of guilt and heartbreak. “It’s only been three goddamn weeks since you got out Tonny,” he pleaded, “Can’t you give us some time to recover?!”

“I had _eight_ goddamn months to _kill_ you _over_ and _over_ in my head, Will,” he bitterly admitted, “I can’t just forget that! I fucking _hated_ you!” he screamed, getting in Will’s face again.

“Do you _still_ fucking hate me?!” he lashed out, shocked and appalled by Tonny’s admission.

Tonny shook his head and looked away, disgusted that he was forced to repeat himself again. “Jesus christ. You _never_ fucking listen to me. This is the whole fucking problem, Will.” He turned back to him, his voice becoming more enraged, “I said I fucking love you, and I _meant it!_ ” He stopped suddenly, now entirely spent. “I can’t do this … I can’t fucking do this anymore. I can’t love you and let you treat me like a goddamn dog.” He paused, shaking his head, “No. You treat me _worse_ than a dog.” He dropped his arms to his sides, defeated and drained, “I didn’t want this to end, Will, but you are too fucking _mean_ to me. I can’t keep caring about you and have you so fucking obviously _not_ care about me. It’s embarrassing. It’s fucking humiliating.”

Will’s mind was flooding with defensive arguments of how he’d nursed him back to health after every relapse – how he stayed with him in the hospital after his drug-induced accident – how he’d given him money, clothes, a job, and a home … but, he thought, it all paled in comparison to what Tonny had done for him; he hesitated, feeling like he had no argument at all. “O-Ok, Tonny. What do you want? What do you need? Name it. Anything.”

“Are you fucking _serious?”_ he scoffed, “Like it’s _that_ fucking easy to fix this?”

“I’m not a goddamn mind reader, Tonny,” insisted Will, his tone becoming resentful. “What the hell do you want from me?” His voice quivered with desperation as he groped around his mind for a valid argument to stop this.

Tonny’s mouth fell agape in shock. “You’re _not_ a fucking mind reader?” he mocked. “Isn’t that your thing!? Isn’t it what the FBI paid you to do?! It was your fucking job!”

“I’m not gonna dig my way into your goddamn head just to figure out what the fuck you want out of me! That’s not how it fucking works!” he retorted, reaching out and clenching Tonny’s sweatshirt in his fists. “You have to _speak_ to me Tonny. _Talk_ to me!” he scolded, “Stop expecting me to know how you feel all the fucking time! I don’t want to live in my _own_ fucked up head. Why the hell would I want to live in yours?!” He released him with an petulant shove.

Tonny was livid, and started to pace around the top of the hill, furiously consuming his cigarette to avoid physically retaliating against him. Will, still feeling as thought he was about to crumble, fell to his knees and flopped on his back in the grass, a total and utter wreck. He blankly stared at the dull grey clouds that now enshrouded them on the hill. The frigid ground was quickly sucking the heat out of his body, leaving him a cold, lifeless shell. It was almost a welcome feeling, like the torment within his racing heart and mind was dulling, leaching out into the ground as he froze. Suddenly, he saw Tonny aggressively leaning over his collapsed body, staring down into his face.

“Well what now smartass?” he quipped, hanging over Will’s head.

Will looked up at him, squinting. “Please don’t spit on me,” he practically whispered, turning his face away from him.

Tonny scoffed at Will’s absurd request. “Why the hell would I spit on you?”

“Uh, y-you just look like you want to, and after what you just fucking said, you’d have significant justification.” He sighed, emotionally drained and not entirely sure what he was talking about.

Tonny casually stepped over Will’s body, aligning his boots on either side of the man’s knees. “Do I look like the kind of person who spits on people?” he asked, cocking his head.

“You want me to answer that?” His voice still shook slightly with anxiety. Tonny nodded in reply. “Yes. You absolutely look like someone who would spit on other people. You also look like someone who pisses on other people too, so please don’t.”

Tonny laughed at his response and nodded. “Well, I can’t argue with that – because I’ve _actually_ pissed on someone before.” He scrunched up his face, incredulously wondering, “How the fuck would you even know that?”

“Maybe I _am_ a mind reader,” suggested Will, his tone and temperament stabilizing.

Tonny dropped to the ground – his knees landing on either side of Will’s hips. “Then what am I thinking right now?”

“Can’t say.” Will raised his eyebrows as Tonny settled, straddling his lap.

“Why not?” he scoffed, exhaling smoke. “You must be pretty shitty at reading minds then.”

“Oh, no, I _can_ read your mind ... I’m just uncomfortable repeating that much vulgarity.”

Tonny chuckled and bit his lip. “Well _damn,_ maybe you are that good.”

Will exhaled a modicum of tension as Tonny seemed to be relaxing. He shook his head, however, still confused, “Why does every conversation we have about us end with me crying on the ground, and you cracking jokes?”

Tonny pondered as he puffed his cigarette. “Uh … I’m funny, and you’re a little bitch who collapses at the thought of _anything_ changing.”

He chuckled at Tonny’s astute observation. “Well said.” Tonny was most definitely not wrong.

“The real question is why the fuck am I still here, when you don’t ever treat me any better?” His slight jovial tone was returning, but the question was still earnest, and quite antagonistic.

Will hesitated, mulling over ways to discourage the conversation from becoming too grievous. “Maybe you’re addicted to me,” he smirked.

Tonny cocked his head as he reflected on this possibility. “Maybe,” he surmised, raising his eyebrows. He slowly leaned down and gently ran his nose up Will’s neck, ”I do love the way you fuckin’ smell,” he whispered, stopping to bite him just below the ear.

An electrifying tingle surged up Will’s spine, forcing a stuttering breath to embarrassingly escape his lips. He gazed warily over at the man who was now nuzzling into his cheek. “Maybe you’re addicted to abusive men that wear cheap aftershave.”

“Huh,” he wondered, “That would actually explain a few things from my past too,” he jokingly mused. Tonny sat up and looked down at Will’s face. Will’s eyes were red and his cheeks blotchy from tears and the cold autumn air. He was sniffling. It was New Year’s Eve all over again.

“What’re we doing?” exhaled Will.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, with a tired sigh. “But you gotta stop being such a dick to me.”

“Will you stop trying to fuck my ass?” wondered Will, attempting a jovial grin.

Tonny huffed, looking appalled that he could even suggest that. “Never!” he jeered with a snicker. “One day you’ll cave,” he smiled, pulling out and lighting another smoke, “And then I’ll get to bend you over whenever I want. We’ll probably stop fighting too …” he smirked, exhaling a smoky cloud.

Will furrowed his brows. “Why are you so obsessed with that anyway?” he asked, reaching up to steal the cigarette out of Tonny’s lips. “I just don’t get the draw.”

Tonny shook his head in mock disgust over Will’s thievery before pulling out his pack and lighting another. “You don’t get the _draw?”_ he snickered. “You don’t get why I want to kick your feet apart and pound my cock in your ass?” He tilted his head back, skeptically staring down at Will. “You don’t _get_ that?”

“No,” he answered adamantly, coughing out a puff of smoke. “I don’t. I mean, would you want me to do that to _you?”_

Tonny glanced around the hill as though astounded by the question. “Um, _yes,”_ he nodded emphatically, as he started to laugh. “Why the hell don’t you want to?”

“You don’t think it’s degrading?”

“Are you crazy?” he scoffed, slightly offended. “What the fuck’s wrong with you? _Degrading …_ Why would it be degrading, Will?”

“I don’t know …” Will averted his eyes. This whole conversation was humiliating for him to conduct, and he hadn’t fully anticipated being forced to talk about it – especially not while lying on his back on the ground, straddled by Tonny, who was still behaving somewhat aggressively towards him.

“What happened to you?” questioned Tonny, now eyeing him skeptically. “What the fuck happened to you growing up to make you so fucking weird about this kind of shit?”

Will scoffed at Tonny’s implication. “Nothing _happened_ to me,” he snapped defensively.

“Well what the hell, Will?” He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, “Why haven’t you fucked me then? I mean, you haven’t even tried.”

Will shifted nervously under Tonny’s weight, feeling very pinned and very interrogated. “I didn’t …” He paused and sucked on his cigarette to buy him time, “I didn’t want you to think that you could do it back to me,” he admitted, his voice quivering.

“Why would I think that I could?” Tonny sat up straight, his face becoming defensive and stern. “Have I ever done anything to you that you didn’t want me to?”

Will rubbed his face nervously and then stared at his cigarette, “No.”

Tonny’s face grew saddened and hurt. “Have I ever hit you, Will? Or shoved you?” he asked, his eyes slowly wetting as his voice trembled with each word. “Have I ever rubbed your face in broken glass? Have I ever _bitten_ you, Will?” he carefully admonished. “Have I ever smashed you so fucking hard against the wall that you left dents in it?” Will shamefully covered his tearing eyes with his hand, unable to answer him. “Have I _ever_ fucking hurt you, Will?”

Will quietly sobbed under his hand with remorse and regret for all the horrible things he’d inflicted on Tonny in the past. He refused to face the question of why he’d treated him with such disdain, so he swallowed it all back, hoping that the feeling would eventually go away.

Tonny watched him struggling and crying, but continued, “I’m not saying this shit to make you feel bad, Will, but you need to stop pretending that I’m some horrible fucking monster that’s gonna hurt you.” He remained calm, but still serious in his tone. “I’ve _never_ tried to make you feel bad about any of that shit. I’m the _last_ fucking person that could judge you for it. I’ve done _way_ worse things to people.” Tonny, tired of always staring at the back of Will’s hand when he talked to him, pulled Will’s arm away from his face to look him in the eye. “You’re fucked up. I’m fucked up. That’s reality, Will.”

Will shook his head as his guilt surged through his body. “I’m sorry …” he whispered. “I’m messed up, I don’t know why –,”

“I don’t want an apology,” he interrupted, “That shit’s done. _I_ want to move on, Will. Do _you?”_

Will frantically nodded his head, “Yeah. I do.”

“Okay.” Tonny tucked his cigarette in his lips and outstretched his arms. “Look,” he said, “it’s over. It’s all new now. No more thinking about it, ‘cause it’s done.” He lowered his arms.

Will flinched at the thought of Tonny’s willingness to simply forget everything he’d done to him. “Do you think it’s that easy, though? To just let all that shit go? I don’t deserve that.”

“It _is_ that easy, if you wanna do it. I’ve done it my whole life. Just let it go, Will. All that shit that makes you unhappy, or nervous, or embarrassed … just leave it all behind and move on.”

Will closed his eyes as he painfully scrutinized this proposal. Tonny had no inclination of what he was suggesting, and Will found this both sobering and gut-wrenching. Will had always felt embarrassed by Tonny _._ He’d always been anxious and nervous around him, and he was certain neither of them had ever been truly happy together. Will hated himself for these thoughts. He hated who he’d become in the last five years he’d known Tonny – violent, cruel, practically abusive – and he had no hope that the next five would be any different. His mind was filled with violence and self-loathing. He was bitter and resentful, and these were all thoughts and feelings he couldn’t just shrug off or leave behind. Tonny’s suggestion for relieving his obsessive compulsions was endearing, but terribly naive.

Tonny watched then sadness creep up from inside Will. He watched him shudder as he attempted to suppress his emotional upheaval. Tonny had spent years watching Will berate and fight with himself over his thoughts and emotions and behavior. Sometimes Tonny fought against him, as their personalities and life experiences clashed in profoundly explosive battles. And sometimes he fought alongside him, sympathizing with his compulsive plight. In all cases, however, Tonny was always left wondering who exactly had won. A win for Will was inevitably a loss for them both.

Tonny had taken great care to be the tender shoulder Will could lean on or the sympathetic ear he could talk to – even if he rarely understood Will’s seemingly inane ramblings. But he now saw that their forced separation had regrettably uncovered more suppressed, painful secrets about their relationship. He now realized that Will no longer _needed_ him for support; Tonny had become just another obsession – a safeguard for Will to grope for in the dark.

But Tonny – he _desperately_ needed Will. He needed to feel that certainty that Will was still within his grasp at all times. He needed to know he could touch him and taste him and feel his smooth skin under his fingers. He needed to hold him in the night and cradle his head as he wept.

What he derived from Will, however, was not a sense of importance. He knew he was insignificant. He’d spent his whole life being used and cast aside. It was the belief that he was _wanted_ by Will that he craved so incessantly. Will’s obsession with Tonny fed his primal desire to be coveted by another person, and it was a potent and intoxicating experience that he now found himself dependant on. And Tonny, a victim and a product of a negligent and chaotic upbringing, would _always_ remain a slave to his addictions.

Will was slowly composing himself as he came to terms with his own reality. He looked up at Tonny, still sitting atop his pelvis, sucking down cigarettes. Tonny appeared reflective, but not particularly dismayed by what he was contemplating, so Will comfortingly rubbed his palms down Tonny’s thighs.

The sensation of Will’s hands on him pulled Tonny’s attention back down to Will’s face. He cleared his throat, tapping his cigarette over the grass as he looked in Will’s eyes. This wasn’t over. He couldn’t let it be over. He’d already withdrawn from Will – he gave him up in prison. But the highs of his addictions were always worth the pain – so he weakened and he relapsed. “First time you realised you wanted to fuck around with me,” he asked, returning to their original discourse, habitually rubbing his nose.

Will faintly smiled, his mind wandering back in time again, “I don’t know …” he admitted, looking up in the sky. “Feels so long ago.”

Tonny forced a chuckle. “I think our answers are actually the same for this one.”

Will looked at him curiously. “Really?” His mood was temporarily lifting with Tonny’s.

“The seat belt,” teased Tonny, and Will groaned and covered his face in embarrassment. Tonny’s jovial grin returned. “What grown ass man buckles the seat belt of another man like that?” Tonny laughed at Will’s reddening face. “I mean, if you cop a feel, did you just forget that the other person feels it too? I should’ve slapped you,” he chuckled.

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” laughed Will from behind his hands.

“If I hadn’t _just_ gotten out of the hospital with a huge goddamn wound right next to my fuckin’ dick, I probably would’ve done something to you for that.”

Will scoffed at his declaration. “Really? You’d been there a _day._ You’d literally met me – what? – thirty-six hours before that?”

“So? You grabbed my _dick!”_ he teased.

“It was an _accident!_ I was embarrassed because it was an accident!” insisted Will through his laughter.

“Sure, Will.” Tonny rolled his eyes and then winked at him, making the man laugh even more. Tonny loved that sound – the audible manifestation of a happy, light-hearted Will. It was inebriating. It was his fix when times were difficult. It was how he’d survived this long. Tonny suddenly became serious again as he gazed back down at him. “First time you knew you loved me.”

Will shook his head, suddenly quiet and ashamed. “I can’t,” he whispered. “That’s too embarrassing.”

“Did … Did you really not think about it until a few days ago?” Tears were slowly welling up in Tonny’s eyes again, but he was maintaining self-control.

“I mean, I-I knew how much I cared about you and Aks. And I wanted you clean, and Aks safe, and both of you happy, and I knew I wanted you –,” he paused, he voice breathy and shaking, “... you know – not to leave,” he rattled, his pulse racing, “But I hadn’t really thought about everything in those terms until … until you got back from Denmark.”

Tonny inhaled a long, deep breath and let it out slowly, wiping his running nose. “Wh-Why did it take you so long to think about it?”

Will shook his head, unsure himself. “I think I was afraid, Tonny. I think I was afraid of what that would mean – about _me,_ more than anything.” He rubbed his face, nervous about treading these waters, “You don’t know how long I’ve lived in denial about a lot of shit. Relationships, you, having a family, friends, my … stability.” He suddenly noticed his cigarette and quickly inhaled a long drag in the hopes of calming his nerves. “There’s nothing in my life that I haven’t – at one point or another – been in complete denial about. I feel like I’m immersed in it now,” he admitted, briefly thinking about Hannibal. “I mean … it’s a comfortable enough place to live for awhile, but it’s not that pleasant when you realize you’re not living on stable land. It’s more like a rickety ass boat and a huge goddamn storm of reality is just on the horizon,” he sighed. “You-You try to escape, but it hits you full-force and you have to come to terms with whatever you’re denying, or you just … drown.”

Tonny eyes filled with an appreciation for Will’s metaphor, and he nodded. “I lived in that fucking place for four years, waiting for that storm to take me to prison. It’s a really scary place to be.” He paused briefly to collect his thoughts, “I didn’t know we were in the same boat, Will.”

Will mournfully stared up at him. “No, Tonny – your boat was a _lot_ more terrifying. I wish I could have been in it with you.”

Tonny cocked his head as he softly smiled, “If you’d been in my boat, Will, you would’ve made me go fishing with you,” he snickered, “Probably better I was alone.” He gazed down at Will, who was painfully smiling and lightly nodding in agreement.

“When did you realize you loved me?” asked Will as he finished his cigarette, snuffing it on the ground.

“Night you fell in the stream,” he said flatly, without a second of hesitation.

Will’s eyes widened in shock. “All the way back then? Holy shit, Tonny. Are you serious?”

He slowly nodded, lighting another smoke. “Did you really not know that?”

Will looked stunned and mildly disgusted with himself. “No, Tonny. I don’t think I did.”

“ _Really_ Will?” he asked incredulously. “What about all the showers we took together – the touching – the head I gave you in front of Hannibal’s? None of that screamed _this guy kinda likes you?”_

“I just thought you were really … _nice_?” he said, or possibly asked, still shocked and trying to recall the events of the six weeks after his accident.

“ _Nice_?” Tonny laughed, “Jesus … What the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t know, Tonny,” he confessed, still in shock, “the whole first year was kind of a blur. My head was really messed up. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I knew you didn’t love me back, Will. Hell, I wonder about it now,” he paused as Will glanced away in shame. Tonny blankly inspected his smoke, pretending not to notice Will’s discomfort before continuing, “I knew you would’ve freaked the fuck out if I told you then. And I was dealing with my own fucking demons – plus yours – and I didn’t want to be the one to screw everything up.” Will had covered his mouth in shame as he listened to him speak. Tonny briefly wondered if he should continue, or if this was all too difficult for both of them to hear. He continued regardless, “Part of me wasn’t sure what the hell I was feeling, anyway. I’d never wanted someone like that. It was only ever just fucking or whatever. It’s not like I’d ever been in a relationship.” He took another drag and sighed. “Though I’m still not sure what the hell this is.”

Will looked up at Tonny, sorrowful and apologetic. “It can be whatever you want it to be, Tonny. Just tell me what you want and we can start over.”

“I just want shit to be normal.” His eyes looked longingly at Will. “And not normal like what we used to have. I mean normal like what _other_ people have … like Jack and Bella, or Alana and Margot. I don’t want to fight all the time, and I don’t want to feel ignored anymore.”  

Will’s eyes welled up at Tonny’s simple and honest needs. “Those are completely reasonable requests, Tonny,” his voice was barely audible as tears fell from the corners of his eyes, “You’ll probably never fully understand how appalled I am with myself that you even have to _ask_ to not be ignored.” He choked on his words as he was forced to look away from Tonny’s tear-streaked face. When he eventually turned back to Tonny, the man looked dazed and was mouthing his cigarette between his lips, yearningly gazing at Will’s chest. He was lazily running his hands over Will’s jacket trying to feel, or rather imagine, the skin underneath. Will watched his eyes as they burned through his clothes and fell across his body, appearing to read him like a book. Will carefully reached up, fumbling for his zipper-pull, and slowly unzipped his coat, still watching Tonny’s face. The man’s eyes never left Will’s body, though they did temper slightly. His face remained emotionless as he watched Will open his coat.

Tonny gradually reached his hand under Will’s shirt and felt his smooth, cool skin with his fingers. He let his cigarette fall to the ground as he suddenly lowered himself until he could take Will’s mouth in his. The pair kissed each other with temporarily renewed hope, wishing to god that _this_ time their promises to each other would stick. They were both beaten and tired, and in desperate need of conciliation between their ever-feuding demons.

“Why are you always so goddamn cold?” breathed Tonny as his fingers worked their ways around Will’s sides.

Will sighed at his touch and smiled. “Well, in case you haven’t noticed, the ground is currently a balmy _one_ degree,” he snickered. “And um, between the cold hard ground and your weight on my pelvis, I’m fairly certain I’m now crippled,” he said, twisting his uncomfortable body under Tonny.

“Old fucking man,” he chuckled, tenderly kissing him on the neck again.

“Hey now,” he snapped in jest, “I’ve spent _years_ trying to work through my issues with your age. I’d appreciate you not making fun of me.”

Tonny gradually sat up again. “It’s only ten years, Will,” he sighed. “And think of it like this – you have an entire year to still be able to say you’re banging someone in their twenties.”

“Fair point. And, um, happy birthday. We sort of missed it this year.” Will sheepishly grinned at Tonny, who was still running his fingers under Will’s shirt. “You think we can make it another year?”

Tonny looked down at the chateau. “Not if we stay here. Jesus, we gotta get away from Hannibal. It feels too much like we’re living in our fucking parents’ house.”

Will tensed and swallowed nervously. “Yeah. It’s a bit fucked up.”

Tonny furrowed his brows. “I don’t think this situation could be _more_ fucked up.” He looked out over the hills again and sighed with resignation. He picked up his still-burning cigarette and brought it to his lips, his gaze returning to fixate on Will’s red and tear-stained face.

“I’m fairly certain a _more_ fucked up situation _is_ possible, but let’s not think about it,” Will suggested, sniffing his running nose. “For now, I say we go back inside, fool around for a bit, and then get something to eat,” he grinned.

Tonny warmly smiled and leaned back down to kiss him again. “I guess you’re a fucking mind reader after all.”


	36. Within a Shadowed Forest

Out on his balcony in the cool morning air, Will leaned on the stone wall, absentmindedly smoking a cigarette. His attention was solely focused on the words trailing through his mind. His company, of which he was completely engrossed, included Dante and Virgil as they descended stony steps, deeper into the inferno of hell. The three were meandering, at this point in their journey, through a great forest of weeping, wailing trees that winced and shrieked at the cracking and snapping of their bleeding limbs by the harpies that crashed through the forest.

>   
>  When my good master stood beside that bush,  
>  he said: “Who were you, who through many wounds  
>  must breathe with blood your melancholy words?”
> 
>   
> And he to us: “O spirits who have come  
>  to witness the outrageous laceration  
>  that leaves so many of my branches torn,
> 
>   
> collect them at the foot of this sad thorn.  
>  My home was in the city whose first patron  
>  gave way to John the Baptist; for this reason,
> 
>   
> he’ll always use his art to make it sorrow;  
>  and if – along the crossing of the Arno –  
>  some effigy of Mars had not remained,
> 
>   
> those citizens who afterward rebuilt  
>  their city on the ashes that Attila  
>  had left to them, would have travailed in vain.
> 
>   
> I made – of my own house – my gallows place.

Will pondered these final few verses, having re-read the canto in its entirety several times over the last few days. His mind seemed stuck amid the second ring of the seventh circle of Dante’s hell – the prison for those who savagely ended their own lives. The seventh layer houses the utmost of the violent – those compelled to bring brutality against their fellow man, the suicides, blasphemers, usurers, and sodomites. He reflected on this torturous world, imagining the dishonored and broken bodies of desperate men, hanging from their own souls which were trapped within gnarled, bloody trees. This was a dark and cruel place in which to study one’s own thoughts and demons, and Will briefly wondered why it was the only book in his bedroom. He slowly closed it, having finished his descent for the day, and ran his finger up the gilded spine in contemplative thought. He gently thumbed the edge of the aged rust-colored cover, looking out among the misty, undulating lands, his mind still fluctuating between the earth and the underworld.

He assumed the more painful aspects of his life were slowly being mended. Tonny was becoming much more gentle with him, playful and jovial even, since their discussion on the hill. He seemed more docile, as though an epiphany had come to him over the last few weeks, tempering his disgust for their life here. They all still felt scattered to the wind, however – still sleeping in separate rooms, eating at different tables, and with Will’s attention wrapped around the Ripper’s finger, the family felt oddly misaligned.

Will’s focus fell upon the vineyard as the yellowing grass and browning grape leaves reminded him of a particularly desolate and bitter landscape from the epic poem – an arid plain, tormented by flakes of fire falling from the sky. It was a battleground between God and his blasphemous sinners. Will swore he could smell the fire scorching the flesh of the sodomites who were doomed to cower in this land. It smelled a lot like … _burning hair?_ He curiously glanced down at the book to see his forgotten cigarette smoldering a smoking hole into the leather cover.

“Shit!” He dropped the cigarette and blew the ash away from the book. Cringing in horror, he carefully inspected the damage, gently rubbing the perfect circle that now marred the nearly immaculate cover of Hannibal’s copy of _The Divine Comedy._ He glanced around in embarrassment, confirming that no one had seen his deplorable little mishap. He set the book down on the stone wall and slowly sidled away from it, lest he catch the entire thing on fire.

He leaned against the wall again, now glaring at the cigarette he’d retrieved from the ground. These morning cigarettes had become as much a ritual to him as reading a chapter of that scorched book and a cup of coffee – whether he actually wanted the smoke or not. He had tried to avoid smoking in the house as he knew it aggravated Hannibal, but since Tonny’s arrival, this rule had become quite lax as Tonny didn’t have the slightest care for the man’s comfort or the smell of his home.

Will recognised that he should stop smoking, but France certainly wasn’t the easiest place to attempt to do so. The country rarely enforced its own cigarette-banning laws, so he wondered how he was expected to do so himself. Everywhere he went, people were sucking down cigarettes, and with Tonny home now, he was inundated with reminders of the carcinogenic little sticks of smoky pleasure.

Patches, gum, cold-turkey … Will was mulling over his smoking secession options when he felt Tonny lovingly wrap his arms around him. Tonny had heard Aksel bounding down the stairs, insisting on watching TV, so he had wandered into Will’s room and found him outside.

Will relaxed with relative contentment as Tonny’s lips met his neck. Suddenly he felt his unwanted cigarette being pulled from his fingers as Tonny brought it to his own lips, exhaling a puff of smoke away from Will’s face. He returned to their embrace and offered it back to him.

“No.” Will shook his head, refusing the smoke. “And keep doing that, okay?”

Tonny remained wrapped around him, working his mouth across the back of Will’s neck. “Doing what?”

“Taking my cigarettes from me.” Will sighed, closing his eyes to focus on Tonny’s warm lips.

“I got no problem with that.” He smiled. “You wanna quit?”  

“Yeah. You probably should too.” Will craned to look over his shoulder. “I’m not telling you to, I’m just suggesting. They aren’t good for anyone.”

“Nah, can’t quit everything at once.” Tonny rapidly finished the smoke and flicked the butt over the balcony.

“We could do it together. Probably easier in one go. Less suffering, don’t you think?”

“For _you_ maybe, but fuck, have a heart, Will. Don’t take everything I love away from me. Been smoking since I was a fucking kid.” He nuzzled into Will’s skin as he pulled him closer to his chest with a soft, contented groan. “What are you guys doing up so early anyway?”

Will chuckled. “It’s eight o’clock, Tonny. It’s not that early.”

“Early for me.” Tonny paused, biting his lip as he pressed his nose back into Will’s neck, lowering the volume of his voice. “Can we mess around in the shower?” he whispered, now hovering over Will’s ear. He was slowly trailing his hand down Will’s stomach until his fingers found their way down the front of Will’s pants. “I want you on your knees looking up at me,” he continued to whisper, biting Will’s neck as he fondled him with his hand.

Will smiled at his relatively innocuous request. He was thankful, at least, that Tonny had dropped his pursuit of the parts of Will that still remained heavily guarded. “Sure. I’ll be there in a minute.” He turned around to watch Tonny eagerly backed away, already stripping off his clothes as he bounded to the bathroom. Will snickered at his exuberance and took another moment on the balcony, looking out over the vineyard. It was early October and the harvest season was just ending; the air was still ripe and sweet, and _not_ full of ash and brimstone. It was a pleasant scene to observe despite the nagging in the back of Will’s mind. His current obsessions with rebuilding his relationship with Tonny and somehow catching the Ripper never ceased replaying in his head, and it was both distracting and bothersome. He turned into the bedroom, eager to relax with Tonny in the shower, when he heard a knock on the door. He momentarily glanced into the bathroom, wondering if he should ignore the door in favor of Tonny’s body, but he decided to answer the knock first.

Outside the door was Hannibal, casually dressed in a light grey sweater and dark grey pants, his hand raised, prepared to lightly rap again on the door with his knuckles. “Good morning, Will,” he said, lowering his hand.

“‘Morning, Hannibal. What did you need?”

“Nothing other than your ear.” He smiled. “You had asked me about a place to take your son.” Will had wondered about a pleasant and fun activity to do with Aksel for an afternoon as a family. The boy needed time away from the house where he could play and interact with Tonny. They all still felt painfully isolated from one another.

“Oh yeah … come in,” said Will, stepping back to let the man enter. Hannibal stepped in and looked around, noting the disarray the room had returned to. Will looked at the ground, embarrassed, but there was nothing he could do, so he carried on, clearing his throat. “What did you come up with?”

“Dijon, actually – Colombière Park is in the center of the city. It’s fairly manageable despite the tourists this time of year. I know you requested a place somewhat less overwhelming, but they have animals to pet, open spaces, things like that.” he grinned, watching Will happily nod at his suggestion, “Many families visit, so perhaps he could play with some other children. Maybe give Tonny an opportunity to run around with other children as well.”

“Yeah ...” Will ignored Hannibal’s mockery. He was still distracted by his own ruminations. “A park – that’s sounds perfect, Hannibal.” He smiled, weakly, attempting to not seem too standoffish.

Hannibal glanced around the disheveled room, his eyes suddenly focusing on the balcony. “Are you reading _The Divine Comedy?”_ Will nervously nodded his head. “I hope you’re enjoying it, but please don’t leave it outside. That edition of the book took me years to find, and cost me far more than I care to share.”

Will’s face grew ashen as he attempted not to think of the smoldering hole he’d just burned in the cover of, apparently, Hannibal’s most cherished possession. Before Will had time to fumble over a response, a naked Tonny emerged from the bathroom. Completely ignoring Hannibal’s intrusion, he snuck up behind Will, wrapping his arms around him once again, and kissed his neck.

 _“ Kom med migCome with me.,”_ he whispered in Danish, urging Will to follow him to the shower.

“Stop.” Will sighed, furrowing his brows and apologetically eyeing Hannibal. “Give me a minute, Tonny. Come on.”

_“ Jeg vil kneppe dig i munden ...I want to fuck you in the mouth ...”_ His voice was sultry as he breathed in Will’s ear. Tonny glared unnervingly into Hannibal’s eyes, aggressively and obviously claiming Will as his own. Hannibal tilted his head and smirked back at him. 

“I don't know what you said, Tonny, but please give me a minute.” Will was insistent that he finish his conversation with Hannibal first and pushed Tonny slightly away from his back. Hannibal cocked a contentious grin at Tonny, who still belligerently stared at him before finally releasing Will. He backed up, still angrily eyeing Hannibal, and headed back to the bathroom alone.

“You shouldn't let him disrespect you like that,” said Hannibal.

“What?” Will, turned to see if Tonny was still in the room. “What did he say?”

Hannibal cleared his throat. “He said he wants to fuck you in the mouth.” He crossed his arms and menacingly wondered, “Should I teach him some manners? Or do you have control of him?”

Will rubbed his face, embarrassed. Having never heard Hannibal say _fuck_ before, hearing it now was rather unnerving. He usually got his fill of vulgarity from Tonny. “Oh, um, just ignore him. We’re all just really stressed. I'm sorry if that made you uncomfortable. I'll talk to him.”

“No problem, Will,” he said, smiling and turning to leave. “I look forward to showing you and Aksel the park.” He suddenly stopped and turned back to Will with a malicious smirk. “Enjoy your _breakfast.”_ He sneered and he quickly turned and left the room.

Will closed the door with a rage-filled scoff at Hannibal’s goading comment. _What a dick._ Will cringed in his own head at his poor choice of insults. Why couldn’t they have a single conversation that didn’t end in scorn, ridicule, or mockery? Will was getting frustratingly annoyed with the behavior of both Tonny and Hannibal. One minute they were ganging up on him, the next he was playing referee to their spiteful little mind games.

Before he could think better of it, he was back out on the balcony, quickly flipping through _The Divine Comedy_ to read aloud the poetic opening lines,

 _“When I had journeyed half of our life’s way,_  
_I found myself within a shadowed forest,_ _  
_ for I had lost the path that does not stray.”

Will meditated on these, the most well-known words of Dante’s _Inferno,_  examining his own life through his hot, darkened forest, wondering where his own path would have led had Tonny not been arrested. Briefly reflecting on the pain he’d been subjected to over the last year, he unceremoniously ripped out the first page of Hannibal’s priceless book, and paused to inspect the damage. He momentarily debated actually _eating_ the damn thing, to _thoroughly_ enjoy his breakfast, but he refrained, opting instead to fold up his sweet, poetic justice and pocket it.

Now satisfied with his non-verbal retort, he finally meandered his way to the bathroom, where Tonny was already showering, so he disrobed and joined him. “Tonny, for the love of god, don't say shit like that in front of Hannibal,” he demanded as he stepped in. “You might think it's okay, or funny or whatever –” His ability to speak was suddenly interrupted by salacious thoughts as he stared at Tonny gently stroking himself under the hot steaming water. “But there are, uh, two people –.” He tried to continue, still ogling Tonny’s naked body. “– two people in this … relationship, and I don't – I don’t really appreciate that kind of shit being said in front of Hannibal.” He gulped back a lecherous hiss as he embarrassingly eyed him.

Tonny scoffed at Will’s domineering nonsense and turned to him. “He doesn't even speak Danish, Will.” He continued touching himself as he argued.

“Uh, apparently he does.” Will slowly slid his hands around Tonny’s waist as he pressed himself against the man’s back. “And _way_ better than me.” He groped down the front of him, feeling for Tonny’s busy hand before kissing the wet skin of his neck.

“Oh. Well good. I don't like the way he looks at you, or the way he tries to take your attention away from everything else,” he said, sneering over his shoulder. He let go of himself to wipe water out of his face. “He thinks he owns you and treats me like a piece of shit.”

“For fuck’s sake, Tonny, don't get jealous. And he doesn’t think he _owns_ me.” He scoffed at Tonny’s ridiculous presumption.

“I'm not jealous,” he snapped.

“Should I refer you to a goddamn dictionary?” Will shook his head at Tonny’s obliviousness and wet his own hair under the hot water.

Tonny inhaled slowly, trying to stay levelheaded, and turned around to face him. “Showers are _our_ thing, Will. It's the _only_ time I sort of feel normal with you, and he interrupted that – and you let him! I’m not allowed to be pissed about that?” He tried to remain calm as he spoke.

Will pushed back his wet hair and sighed. “Okay. I'm sorry, Tonny.” He backed down to avoid a fight. “Being here is really hard on everyone, but until we can manage getting our own place, we _literally_ have nowhere else we can go. This is our best shot at anything even remotely resembling normalcy for a while, so just _try_ to be less antagonistic towards him. This is _his_ home, Tonny, not ours.”

Tonny, though frustrated by Will’s constant defense of Hannibal, attempted to stay collected. “Will, you called me your partner once, and you _say_ that you love me – can you respect what that means?” He spoke slowly and methodically, mouthing each word carefully as though he was reading from a script in his mind. “Can I take priority to you when he's around, _ever?_ I _never_ do. You always rush to him first and make me wait.” He was staring Will in the eyes now.

Will was completely taken aback by Tonny’s confidence, his assertion, and the fact that he hadn’t sworn in five whole minutes. _What is going on?_ he wondered, confused. The man was articulate and standing up for himself, and Will felt very _good_ about this. Tonny, it seems, was carefully considering the discussions they were having about acting like a responsible adult and _talking_ through their issues with one another. “Thank you for saying something,” he articulated, “and not just getting mad. I didn't _realize_ I was doing that. I’ll work on it, okay?” He didn’t prioritize Hannibal, did he? _No_ , he thought. _That’s ludicrous. But at least Tonny’s talking to me._

“Can we stop talking about him?” asked Tonny sternly, as he ran his hands up Will’s wet back.

“Yes. Done,” he concurred with a smile. Will leaned into Tonny’s shoulder, sighing as the hot water flowed across his skin. He was internally chuckling at the bizarrely placid scolding they’d just given each other – but this time, no one was crying, bleeding, or storming out, so it was a success!

Tonny nuzzled the side of Will’s face, until Will turned to him and warmly kissed him on the lips.

“Oh, um, one thing,” interjected Will as he pulled away, “I actually did have a _quick_ question before we keep going.” Tonny pulled back to eye him suspiciously. “Did you think of anyone? Maybe someone who was strangely attached to Aksel, or asked about him? Even if it was just once –”

“Are you fucking serious, Will?” interrupted Tonny.

“Or-or maybe someone you met in the States before you came to the farm?” He shrugged, hopeful.

Tonny pulled away, groaning. _“Again?_ You wanna grill me about the fucking Ripper _again? Now?!_ I’m fucking hard, Will. I’m not talking about the goddamn Ripper!”

“I’m just … I’m losing ground, Tonny. I have no leads.” Will was fretful, his eyes worried and slightly panicked by Tonny’s explosive response. “I don’t know what the fucker wants, but he’s _dangerous,_ ” he stressed. “You don’t understand _how_ dangerous, but believe me – _very.”_

Tonny saw the fear and concern suddenly erupt in Will’s eyes, and he wanted to take him seriously, but this whole obsession with the Ripper … well, it was as bad as Will’s obsession with Hannibal. “No, Will. I can’t think of anyone,” he said, exasperated. “I _told_ you that already.” He was frustrated with having to relive his past over and over again as Will incessantly questioned him, sifting through the list of everyone Tonny had ever spoken to. “Maybe he’s a dealer? I don’t know what shit Frank’s messed up in, but he worked for Milo, like I said. Kurt, Ø, Svend, and a bunch of other shit-heads worked for the Duke. You already _know_ all this, Will. You _have_ the list of my coworkers from the store. You _have_ the names of the guys at NA – which I wasn’t supposed to give you, by the way – and that’s it. I don’t know anyone else!”

“Well, he wouldn’t be obvious though. Ever catch anyone looking at you strangely, maybe acting aggressively towards you? Or someone who asked about me? And it could be a stranger. Or-Or maybe someone who helped you for no reason? Anyone, Tonny, think.”

“You just fucking described _Hannibal,_ Will.” He scoffed in disgust. “I don’t know what you want me to say. You have to let this shit go. We _don’t_ have a fucking serial killer following us!” Tonny grit his teeth as he grew more and more unsettled by his questions. Will had spent most of his time since Tonny’s release working alone, attempting to bring logic to his obsession. It was going nowhere, and Will was getting more and more short-tempered. Every step they took towards rebuilding their relationship, Will insisted on stumbling back two more as he became more and more preoccupied with European murder cases and Tonny’s past.

Will sighed and looked at the floor of the shower, defeated. Tonny could see the desperation, anxiety, and torment spreading through Will’s body. Then he recalled how much he trusted Will. He trusted him with his life. The man had always made good decisions. He was responsible, and while his overanalysis of situations often made him overthink and obsess, he always came to reasonable and often correct conclusions. He was intelligent – much smarter than Tonny would ever consider himself; Tonny was always making messes that seemed impossible to clean up, and yet Will always brought order to them – he found a way to get Aksel – he tirelessly worked and successfully got him out of prison early. Will had never steered him wrong. He _had_ to trust him. He had no _reason_ not to – yet.

“Maybe it’s not someone from _my_ past. ”Tonny sighed, relenting to Will’s interminable questioning. “Maybe it’s someone from yours, Will. I can help you go over that list again if you want.” Tonny slowly wrapped himself around Will, holding him protectively in his arms. He could feel a slight tremble against his shoulder as Will sobbed and sniffed, tearing up with appreciation for Tonny making an effort to show that he believed him. “I don’t want you to feel alone in this either, Will.” He gently held the man’s face against his, stroking his hair. “I want to _help_ you. I want to help you feel like you can beat this, whether you catch him or just let it go – and no one will hold it against you if you just drop it, Will.” He slowly ran his hand down Will’s back, attempting to comfort him, “But I don’t want you to be afraid for us anymore, and I really don’t want this to ruin your life.”

Will relaxed his arms, feeling somewhat defeated. Will didn’t want their lives ruined by his obsession with catching the Ripper either, but it was far from over. “I really can’t let this go, Tonny,” he whispered.

Tonny paused, feeling Will’s body go lax. He tightened his embrace, pulling him closer to his chest. He didn’t want to encourage Will’s obsession, but he didn’t have a choice. He wanted to show him that he could be a supportive partner to him, and he was desperately trying to equalize their positions in the relationship. “Then let’s catch him, Will.” He sighed giving in, and he ran his hand through Will’s hair. “If this is what you want to do, I’ll help you do it.”

Will couldn’t suppress the whimper of gratitude that escaped him as he was flooded with relief by Tonny’s offer of support, and he pulled himself closer to him.

“See, you _are_ my priority, Tonny. I-I need you to _know_ that.” He huffed his relief against Tonny’s dripping neck, his mind gathering fortitude. “That’s why I have to protect you and Aksel from this bastard. I care too much about you to let him win.” He stopped to reassess his word. “ _I love you_ too much to let him win.”

Tonny sighed but couldn’t smile at his loving affirmation, though he logged this memory away. He hated Will’s unnerving obsessions. He feared that this compulsion to find the Ripper would inevitably drive an unsalvageable wedge between them. He rubbed his cheek against Will’s wet face, trying to let his declaration of love wash away his fear. There was nothing in the world Tonny wanted more than to believe Will loved him as much as he claimed. But there was this deep, nagging voice in the depths of his mind that made him question Will’s _ability_ to love him or indeed his ability to love _anything_ at all, and this skepticism is what scared him the most.


	37. Blessed be She who Bore Thee in her Bosom

Hannibal and Will casually walked along a path that led through Colombière Park in Dijon. It was late in the morning on a cool rainy day in October, and the leaves were falling and carpeting the ground in varying shades of brown and rusty orange. They were all thoroughly enjoying this refreshing change of scenery. With their hands tucked deep in their coat pockets to escape the chill, they watched from the path as Tonny and Aksel played various forms of tag between the trees. The wet autumn air was rejuvenating for the entire family, and Will was hopeful that a little time spent outdoors together might mend some of the tears that had formed between them.  

“It’s a nice park,” commented Will to Hannibal, as he continued staring at Aksel weaving among the trees.

Hannibal nodded in agreement. “Your son seemed to enjoy the ponies,” he smiled.

Will chuckled and then grew pensive. “I was a little afraid he was going to start asking about our horses.” He sadly stared down at the wet path they were following.

“Children are adaptive, Will.”

“I know,” he sighed. “Doesn’t make this any easier.”

Will slowly came to a stop as he looked up at Tonny and noted his new playfulness with Aksel. It had taken over a month for the boy to warm back up to his father. Will had been taking his son to a psychologist, who was quite happy with Aksel’s demeanor. The doctor was working with Will, sharing his concerns and helping Will to better understand his son’s needs during this difficult transition in his home and family life. Will then relayed this information as best he could to Tonny, who had begun to soften his expectations for their new relationship.

Will was lovingly watching Tonny lift the boy and toss him over his shoulder. Aksel was, in turn, showering him with handfuls of wet leaves as he attempted to fill the hood of his father’s sweatshirt. “They’re laughing together,” he noted out loud.

“Indeed,” smiled Hannibal. “Dr. Dumas seems to be doing him a world of good. And Tonny looks to be in much better physical shape.”

Will agreed. Tonny had continued drinking Hannibal’s _polyjuice,_  as it was now called thanks to Aksel and Anouk’s new adventures to Hogwarts at bedtime. It had taken a couple weeks of a fairly strict regimen of stock and simple carbohydrates, but eventually Tonny’s appetite returned, and he began eating a much more varied diet.

The mood of the household was also slowly improving with each day. Tensions were still a bit high at times, but as far as Will was concerned, the waters were calming and the storm receding. Will _almost_ felt as though the worst was behind them, and was hopeful though cautious of what the future may hold. For now however, they were all simply enjoying this sweet respite playing and walking among the trees.

Tonny scanned the area until his eyes fell on Will and Hannibal chatting down the path. Aksel had just asked for a treat to share from a bakery they had seen on the drive over, and Tonny was determined to give the boy exactly what he wanted. It was the first request the child had made of him, and he wasn’t going to deny it or let it slip away. He left Aksel digging in a pile of leaves and jogged to Will.

“Aks wants something sweet,” he stated, as he slowed and stopped in front of Will. “I want to take him to that bakery thing across the street.”

Will groaned and sighed his disapproval. “We’re going to find lunch in fifteen minutes, Tonny. Don’t get him a dessert now.”

Tonny crossed his arms and looked disparagingly at Will. “Come on, Will. He wants _me_ to get him something. Just give me a couple bucks.”

Hannibal stared at Will, his brows furrowed and a half-cocked grin across his face. He was wondering if this was always how their family operated, with Tonny asking permission from Will to do basically _anything_ with his own son. He was also a bit concerned over why Will would make him _ask_ for money.

“No, Tonny. Jesus.” He shook his head, frustrated with having to explain this. “I _just_ got you two eating anything even remotely decent. I want Aks to actually eat his lunch today.”

Hannibal pulled out his wallet and held out a stack of bills to Tonny. “Take it,” he insisted, when Tonny hesitated.

Tonny glanced at Will and smiled before quickly snatching the cash. “Uh, thanks, _Hannibal_ ,” he sneered at Will and quickly ran back to his son.

Will scoffed, glaring at Hannibal. “Why the hell am I even here?”

“I don’t know, Will, maybe next time you should stay home,” he grinned.

“Seriously though, what the hell was that?”

“I can’t treat my son and grandchild?” scoffed Hannibal.

“Don’t try and pull that shit. First, it’s creepy as hell, and second you can’t claim to feel no responsibility for Tonny, and then give him cash _because he’s your son_. That’s completely unfair. I have a family I’m trying to manage and I don’t need you undermining me.”

“Why can’t I undermine, Will? I just did. And besides, who are you to say no?” he asked, wrinkling his forehead. “The boy in psychological counseling after his mother was murdered finally asked for a treat, specifically from his recently released, convicted criminal father. Surely you can relax your strict eating schedule to comply with _that_.” He looked at Will, who was rolling his eyes. “And you should give Tonny more responsibilities. It would be good for him.”

Will was unamused, and wasn’t about to be lectured by Hannibal about his relationship with Tonny, so he decided to simply not respond to it. The pair continued down the path in silence as Will attempted to rid himself of the foul mood building within him.

“You know,” Hannibal mused, “I was always under the impression that it was _Tonny_ who seemed impossible to live with. I’m now coming to the conclusion that it is _you_ who is utterly insufferable.” He grinned at Will.

“Very funny,” he snapped, unable to resist the goading. “Try living with him for four years and see if your story doesn’t change. His volume alone would have you crawling out of your goddamn skin. He’s impulsive and constantly breaks shit. I have worked _exceedingly_ hard to make him even remotely civil, so don’t forget that.”

“Well, you certainly think highly of yourself,” he grumbled.

“Says the most self-centered person on the planet,” scoffed Will. “Are you trying to piss me off? Because it’s working.”

“Will, you are so easily antagonised,” he laughed. “It’s enjoyable, like a game. How many times do you think I can make you scoff, roll your eyes, and get wildly or unnecessarily defensive in a single conversation? The answer may surprise you. I’ll give you a hint – it’s higher than ten.”

Will stopped walking and scoffed, and then fell silent in an attempt to suppress his natural urge to roll his eyes and get defensive. He relaxed his face, but this caused him to become jittery as he held back about a dozen or so comebacks.

Hannibal was chuckling at his ridiculous attempts to try to prove him wrong, and he continued to walk away without him. He meandered over to a small metal table and chairs that lay right off the path and lightly brushed off the leaves before sitting. “We can see them return from here,” he said, pointing to the large stone gate on the other side of the park.

Will reluctantly joined him.

“I’m not meaning to be antagonistic, Will. I just feel that you could benefit from relaxing your standards and attempting to enjoy life rather than trying to control it. You’re painfully restrictive with your son, you treat Tonny like he’s your child, and you are needlessly hard on yourself.”

Will swallowed down his frustration. “You’re probably right,” he admitted, “I will grant you that. I do tend to overanalyze, uh, _everything_ … but it’s a trait that I don’t tend to have complete control over.”

“No, I guess not,” smiled Hannibal. He looked towards the gate and pointed to draw Will’s attention. Will turned to see Tonny and Aksel returning from their bakery adventure. Tonny was looking at his phone and carrying a brown paper bag, while his son, having caught sight of Will, hurriedly ran to his Papa.

“I got a _pan aw chocolate_!” he exclaimed, holding up a half-eaten chocolate croissant to show Hannibal.

Will lifted the boy up and onto his lap as Hannibal chuckled over the child’s enthusiasm. “Let me see!” grinned Will, and he peered at the croissant. “Well that looks delicious. Can I have a bite?”

“No! You have your own,” he said, wiggling out of Will’s lap.

Tonny finally caught up and dropped the bag on the table. “Two chocolate things, two bottles of water, two sandwiches,” he stated, pointing at the bag, turning to Will with a sneer. “And I made Aks eat some cheese and fruit before he got a fucking dessert. _Happy?”_ He held out the remaining change for Hannibal to take. Hannibal refused it with a gracious wave and stared at Will with even more amusement.

“Did you really?” wondered Will skeptically, eyeing Aksel, who was scarfing down the croissant.

“Yeah. I’m not a total fucking _idiot,_ Will,” he snarled, pocketing the money.

“Um, ok. Well, that’s great. Thank you for doing that, Tonny.”

“You don’t have to thank me for taking care of my own fucking kid, Will,” he snapped. Aksel finished his dessert and immediately bolted back to the trees to jump in the leaves, and Tonny quickly followed suit.

Will sighed and stood up from the table. “Tonny, what did you eat?” he shouted after him.

“I’m not hungry!” the man yelled back.

Will sat back down with a discouraged huff. “It’s me,” he stated, “I’m fucking everything up. I’m too goddamn hard on him.”

“Will, even I’m shocked by this. I’m starting to suspect he’s not the real Tonny,” chuckled Hannibal as he opened the brown bag.

Will laughed and accepted the sandwich and water that Hannibal offered him, and the two began enjoying their lunch.

“Seriously though,” wondered Will with a smile. “How do you do that?”

“Do what, Will?”

“How do you get it so _right_ all the time? You totally called that. You gave him money, trusted him, and he delivered – literally, even – we got lunch out of it with no work on our part,” he chuckled. Hannibal grinned at him and set down his sandwich, becoming fixated on Will and his comments. Will continued, “I think I’m actually a little jealous. You can be amazing sometimes, especially with _him_ ,” he admitted, as a slight embarrassment flushed his face. “I don’t know how you got him out of the car the day he was released, but you did – even though you and he have your massive differences,” he smiled, watching Tonny and Aksel play. “And the way you get Aksel to open up and talk,” he shook his head in amazement, trailing off as he turned back to Hannibal. “What you can do to people is just … fascinating.”

Hannibal smirked and reached towards Will to lightly graze the side of his face with his fingertips. Will’s face relaxed as he stared, slightly disconcerted by Hannibal’s heightened intensity. Hannibal leaned over the table and delicately kissed Will on the lips, grinning as he pulled away.

Will lingered slightly in front of his face before reclining back again, his heart racing. He immediately scanned the park for Tonny and Aksel, who were now off on their own, exploring elsewhere. “Why did you do that?” he whispered nervously, looking back at Hannibal.

“I … wanted to,” smiled Hannibal. He leaned on the table and watched Will’s reaction intently.

Will set down his lunch and anxiously readjusted his glasses, laughing at Hannibal’s response. He relaxed back in his chair with a sigh. “You should really talk to Tonny about your relationship to him. You guys have a lot in common,” he smiled, averting his eyes from Hannibal’s intense gaze.

“I _highly_ doubt that,” claimed Hannibal, returning to his lunch.

“No, really. That is verbatim what Tonny said to me once after a very similar … uh, exchange.” Will didn’t know why he refused to call it a _kiss_ , but he did.

“Not an uncommon response, I’d imagine – Well, maybe it is for you,” he grinned.

“Funny, Hannibal. But actually Tonny said that right before your fucked up dinner party. Do you remember that? The one you _accidently_ invited Freddie Lounds to?”

“I didn’t _accidently_ invite anyone. I intentionally invited her because I knew she got on your nerves,” he calmly admitted.

“I knew it!” sneered Will, setting down his water.

“What can I say, Will, I enjoy watching you suffer. It’s become somewhat of a hobby of mine,” he confessed, continuing to eat his sandwich.

Will shook his head. “Tonny gave me head right after that kiss,” he stated plainly, hoping to make Hannibal uncomfortable, or perhaps jealous.

“Is that what you’re expecting out of me? Because I hate to disappoint, but I’d rather not be arrested for _that._ This is a public park, Will.” Will chuckled, and Hannibal finished his sandwich, wiping his hands on a napkin before leaning back in his chair, relaxed.

Will continued gazing at the man. What a strange turn of events he thought this to be. Will was most definitely not expecting any form of affection from Hannibal, but then again, he was not the easiest person to read. His motives for doing anything were often completely unpredictable. Will had initially assumed that most of what Hannibal ever did was simply self-serving, but so often he had been utterly floored by the man’s tenderness towards those around him – it seemed that he had been incredibly generous to his family for no other reason than sheer benevolence, and this was an amazing and beautiful thing for Will to behold.

“Not to change the subject,” said Hannibal, “but what were you and Tonny discussing the other day?”

Will looked at him confused, “What do you mean? When?”

“On the hill. It seemed heated,” he said, sipping his water, “in more ways than one, I noticed.”

Will blushed. “Oh, uh, we were just talking.” His eyes narrowed in concern. “Were you watching us?”

“Difficult to avoid. Your voices carry, and honestly I was wondering if it was going to end in a fistfight.”

“ _Voices carry_ … did you hear anything?”

“Would I be concerned with what you were discussing?”

“No. It was just a private, um, personal conversation.” Will wasn’t sure if he was more concerned with Hannibal having heard the comments they had made about _him,_ or more about his own rather embarrassing reaction to Tonny trying to leave. He had, after all, basically lied down and cried.

“No need to be embarassed, Will. I understand your need for privacy. I wasn’t eavesdropping. I was simply making sure Tonny didn’t end up pissing on you.” He looked at Will with a half-cocked grin.

Will’s face reddened and he cleared his throat. “He was pretty upset. Believe me, I had the same concern. But he assured me that while he _had_ pissed on someone before, he was not going to do it to me.” Will smiled and nodded, preemptively answering Hannibal’s next question.

“Are you serious?” Hannibal grimaced in disgust. He looked back between the trees at his son. “He’s worse than an animal.”

Will snickered at his assessment, “He’s not an animal. He just reacts to situations vastly differently than, say, you or I … or 80% of the rest of the civilized world. He’s just really, _really_ impulsive.”

“Impulsive? Who impulsively … nevermind, Will.”

Will chuckled under his breath. “It bothers you, doesn’t it?”

“Don’t be vague, Will. What? What bothers me?” snapped Hannibal, still staring at Tonny.

“That your son is … well, _Tonny.”_

“Not at all. The fact that he’s my son has no bearing on how I see him. He will never be anything more to me than that savage Dane a dear friend once pursued at great cost.”

Will scoffed. “Well, that’s a shame, Hannibal. He’s really funny and quite clever. He’s very generous with his time and patience. He’s playful with Aksel and with me. He loves making people laugh. You’d love him if you got to know him.”

“Those traits are all byproducts of having no dignity, Will.”

Will laughed shaking his head. “So it really _does_ bother you.”

Hannibal shook his head in disagreement.

“You can admit it, Hannibal. No one will think less of you. It’s ok to care about him because of your relation to him. It doesn’t make you uncivilized, nor does his behavior reflect upon you as a father.”

“Will, don’t project,” he snapped. “I don’t _want_ a relationship with him. _You_ do. I don’t find him endearing, but for some reason, _you_ do. Don’t for a second confuse my acknowledgment of his behavior as some sort of perverse acceptance of it. If _you_ find him to be an acceptable mate, then _you_ will have to come to terms with his crude behavior yourself. I, on the other hand, have no obligation to do so, and I refuse to help you come to terms with your own doubts about him by pretending to find the man charming.”

“Fuck, Hannibal, tell me how you really feel. Jesus christ.” He was reeling from Hannibal’s long-winded analysis. He falsely identified Hannibal’s response as indicative of the man’s jealousy towards Tonny and his relationship.“You know what I see? You getting outrageously and unnecessarily defensive when I casually suggest that you might feel a slight twinge of affection towards him. I find that rather telling, Hannibal.”

“What, Will? What does that _tell_ you?”

“That you’re lying to yourself. That you’re living in denial, and not just about Tonny.” Will scoffed and took a sip of his water to avoid eye contact with the man.

“You’d know a lot about living in denial, wouldn’t you Will? You’re practically the king of denial.”

“And what the fuck does that mean?”

Hannibal scoffed and laughed at Will’s blindness. “Will, you are turning into an incredible exercise in restraint for me.” He rubbed his face with his hands and grit his teeth.

Will had never seen Hannibal torn before, but that was exactly how he appeared. The man looked like he was about to lose self-control. “Restraint?”

Hannibal slowly turned to him, and Will somewhat gasped at the man’s leer. _“Restraint,”_ he obliquely clarified. “You have no idea what I intend.” He shook his head and stopped, reassessing what else he may inadvertently say.

Worry crept across Will’s face. “Your ... _intentions,_ Hannibal?”

Hannibal quickly composed himself and smiled, “My intentions are nothing short of _respectful,_ Will. No need to worry.”

“No need to _worry?”_ Will whispered back to himself, and Hannibal’s eyes narrowed. They stared at each in silent scrutiny.  

“Maybe you’re right, Will. I won’t go so far as to say that I _want_ a relationship with Tonny, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying the opportunity to watch your family. Despite my issues with Tonny, I have rather enjoyed your family’s presence in my home.” Hannibal smiled and handed Will his croissant from the bag on the table. He left his own dessert in the bag as he leaned back in his chair, effectively dissipating as much tension between them as possible.

Will jokingly sneered at this, “I highly doubt _that,_  Hannibal. We’re a goddamn mess.”

“I won’t argue there. It has been a bit of a dog and pony show,” he smiled, “Or rather, I guess, a Will and Tonny show,” he chuckled.

Will shook his head, laughing. “I hope to god you haven’t been saving that joke,” he mocked. Hannibal smiled at him as Will sighed, “That reminds me, though … I miss my goddamn dogs.” He noticed Tonny and Aksel were back out in the grass where he could see them. “I can’t talk to Tonny about it because I’m pretty sure he hated the damn things.” Will’s eyes grew slightly pained and he stared at Tonny in the distance.

“I’ve never quite understood the draw to have, what was it? 40 dogs? That seemed like a few too many.”

“Nah, they were great. Loved every single one of them. You’re not a dog person?”

“Not really.”

“I could see you liking cats – aloof, annoying, obsessed with themselves … sounds like someone I know.”

Hannibal chuckled. “You’re adorable, Will, but no ... Not really a cat person, either.”

“Do you like any pets?”

“I don’t have a lot of experience with pets, to be honest, but I’d imagine I’d prefer a more unique variety of animal. I imagine I’d find them more ... interesting.”

Will was happily smiling as he thought about his dogs, and practically ignoring Hannibal. “Pets are great – the companionship, the love – god, it’s just nice to be around creatures that adore you regardless of your flaws.”

Hannibal leered at him. “I can see the draw to that. It would be nice to feel adored, and to have all my _flaws_ go unnoticed.”

Will nodded in agreement. “My dogs were always so goddamn happy to see me. They were always waiting for me when I’d get home. Before I met Tonny, they were all I had to keep me company. They kept me grounded, I think – gave me something to focus my energy on.” Will was radiating pure joy at remembering his much-loved pets.

“But didn’t you ever find their constant and unending needs tiresome?” asked Hannibal, as he looked out at the grass, his eyes tracking Tonny as he spoke.

“What, like needing fed and let out? No, not at all. It all just came with the territory. I got a lot out of them, so I was willing to put in the time. I had a couple that had some health issues – diabetes and hip problems – and they required special food or meds, which was inconvenient as hell, but it all eventually became routine.” Will followed Hannibal's gaze and looked out into the trees at Tonny and Aksel. “Tonny helped me a lot, but he wasn’t as fond of them as I was,” he snickered. “But even with health issues and special diets, they were still worth the time.”

“Were they? It still feels like it would get irritating, especially if they won’t eat.” He was still staring at Tonny.

“Many of the ones that wouldn’t eat were just sick. And we’re talking animals who were abused, too. Get them better, get them eating, and they were most likely fine. Most illnesses were easy enough to treat.”

Hannibal nodded in agreement. “Didn’t they tend to fight though? I’d imagine having such a variety of sick, abused, or confused animals under one roof would be difficult to manage.” He looked back at Will.

Will sighed. “Well, yeah, they would always fight. That's the nature of having a house full of essentially wild animals. Personalities will collide. You just have to handle it right when a problem arises.”

“How did _you_ handle it when your pets fought? Aggression seems to be something you had to deal with quite a bit.”

“Well, I would have to separate them, obviously. You can’t really reason with an animal. Of course, getting in the middle of a dog fight is ill-advised – often times it ends bloody for the poor soul attempting to break it up –  but if I _knew_ I could handle it, I’d separate them, and put some distance between them for awhile – keep them away from each other.”

“I suppose that was easy enough on your farm – separation – simply lock away the aggressor.”

“Sometimes. But typically I would stay with the aggressive one – the one causing the problem. I’d basically send away the one that was attacked. It sounds harsh, but most of the time I was alone, so it was out of necessity. Then I’d work on behavioral modification with the aggressor. Sending away or locking up an ugly dog doesn’t make it less ugly, it just compounds the problem. You have to work with them, be patient. Changes in behavior don’t happen overnight.”

“Indeed they don’t. I’d imagine it could take years. That’s a lot of dedication.” He sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted.

“Or sometimes it never sticks. I had one dog – a total bastard – I mean, he was vicious. Fought me constantly. I worked with him and attempted to train him, but _god_ he was untrainable.”

Hannibal’s interest was piqued. “What did you do with him? After you moved to Europe, that is. Can’t imagine someone taking an ugly dog.”

“Oh, no. Uh, he was killed. Long before I moved here.”

Hannibal was taken aback. “Well that’s one way to take care of an ugly dog. Probably more humane than keeping him locked in a cage somewhere,” he smiled, watching Tonny chase after Aksel, “But I guess he didn’t really learn anything, did he?”

“No, I guess not.” Will fidgeted with his hands as he recalled the hospital trip after the dog fight. “And it was actually _Tonny_ who shot him – after the dog bit him. He’d already bashed in its skull with a shovel. There was rabies involved; It was ... unpleasant.” Will grimaced.

“Huh.” Hannibal was pleasantly surprised. _“Tonny_ shot him? Well, that’s even more interesting.”

Will side-eyed Hannibal after this bizarre comment. “Yeah, uh, I guess ...” he said, before moving on. “But if I’d let that _one_ bad experience taint my entire perception of pets, I wouldn't have had my good ones – the ones I loved, and I really do miss them.” He was back to waxing on about his dogs. “They were just fun to have around – fun to watch – fun to play with.” Hannibal stared at Will, intently watching the man’s face and listening to him describe the joys of pet ownership. “I got to enjoy not feeling awkward and anxious when around them. I ate every meal with them, and hell, three or four even slept with me most nights.” He chuckled before glancing over and wondering why a rather nefarious grin was emerging across Hannibal’s face. “What?”

“Pets can certainly be enjoyable in many ways, Will,” he smiled.

Will nodded, his brow now furrowed in curious thought, as he returned to watching Tonny and Aksel discuss their newest natural discovery – a bug of some sort, it seemed.

Hannibal and Will sat in odd, but not necessarily uncomfortable, silence before Hannibal spoke. “How’s the witch hunt?”

“Nothing to report, I’m afraid,” he sighed, “I can’t find him. It’s like he’s gone dormant again. I don’t understand why he’s not hunting in threes. I had to have missed something somewhere.” Will stared into space, thinking. “Charlotte Olsen, Agnete Olsen, Aleksandar Radić, Katarina Novak.” He listed the victims’ names before returning his focus to Hannibal. “He’s never targeted such specific people before. These four served a greater goal. They were dominoes ... tipped to set in motion some plan – some endgame.”

“Maybe it’s not the Ripper,” suggested Hannibal.

“Well, you’d be wrong.”

“It’s quite a leap, Will. If it’s the Ripper, he’s not keeping with any of his signatures.”

“Yes, he is. You just don’t see it. You haven’t studied him like I have. Something has _definitely_ changed for him, but it’s-it’s not what we’d expect. Something is throwing him off … No, not _off_ – he’s just … waiting. He has a new routine, and a new reason for killing these particular people. Tonny thinks it has something to do with the dealers that sent their underlings after him, but that’s not it. The Ripper doesn’t care about bad deals or drug money. He has … other, bigger motivations for following me here. I just don’t know them yet.” Will’s nervous gaze rested back on Tonny and Aksel as he watched his seemingly happy family play. He wondered just how long their happiness would last – a week? A day? Would it end before they reached home?

“Maybe he’s already moved on,” suggested Hannibal, as he watched Will’s face contort in thought.

“No. He hasn’t. He’s not going to go to all this trouble to get my attention and then just move on.”

“Well, I’m sure he knows you no longer have FBI resources at your disposal. Perhaps he figures you’ve given up?”

“No. He’s waiting.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“He _has_ to be watching me. This would all be pointless to him if he wasn’t still watching me. He wants me to find him. His next victims – they will still be people associated with Tonny. Unfortunately, I’ve already grilled him – several times – but he has no ideas. The only people left that he has any association with are a couple drug dealers and his friend Ø _,_ all of whom still live in Denmark.”

“Why are you so certain he is going after people associated with _Tonny?”_

“I’m just following the pattern.” Will took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. ”I’ve been so distracted by – well, everything – Aksel, the lawyers, the trial, now Tonny being released. I’m not giving him my full attention. I’m going to miss something, and it’s going to piss him off.” He put his glasses back on and sighed.

“Are you sure it’s not all in your head, Will?”

“Don’t start, Hannibal. I get enough of that shit from Tonny.”

“Exactly how much support should one give madness, Will? Out of curiosity …”

“You tell me, Doctor.”

Hannibal stared at the man. Will was still eyeing his family playing happily out among the trees. “How exactly do you plan to catch him?”

Will’s eyes had glazed over, lost deep in thought – he was connecting dots and drawing conclusions – he barely heard Hannibal’s question. “Huh? Oh, I don’t know yet ... but I think I just figured out who he intends to victimize next ...”

“And who’s that, Will?”

Will's face was contorted into a worried scowl as he slowly turned to Hannibal. “Tonny … and Aksel.”


	38. One Spirit Uttered

The entire family, Anouk included, were all finally sitting together at the dinner table attempting civility. This was the first time Tonny had agreed to sit, eat, and be gracious to their host since his arrival, and it was a feat that Hannibal was relishing as his degenerate offspring sat awkwardly picking at his food and avoiding conversation. Will, however, was finally feeling like everything was getting back to normal. Tonny and Aksel were connecting with one another and eating real food together for the first time since either of their arrivals at the chateau. Hannibal had admitted, at least according to Will, that he cared for his son. And Will, despite not making progress finding the Ripper, was finally coming to terms with their new life here in France. Will had his family back, and his relationship with Tonny was on the mend. They all seemed, for the most part, to be quite happy together. But happiness, as we all know, tends to be boring – or at the very least, not very interesting.

“Can I sleep in the tent tonight?” asked Aksel, bouncing rather excitedly at the prospect. He was staring at Anouk happily awaiting her reply.

Tonny's interest was piqued as his son beamed with joy at his own mention of this mysterious tent. He looked at Anouk curiously. “What tent?” Will had failed to mention the boy’s secret escape. Tonny knew Aksel occasionally slept in Anouk’s room, but as she often read to him before bed, that wasn’t unusual. The sleeping arrangements were one aspect of their lives here that still felt strange and disjointed. Will and Tonny continued to sleep in separate guest rooms – Will, of course, sharing his bed with Aksel, who was still put off by Tonny joining them. His psychologist seemed to think Aksel’s anxiety stemmed from Tonny having been arrested in the night, so Will and Tonny reluctantly accepted this temporary arrangement until Aksel understood that neither of his fathers would ever be taken from him again.

Anouk smiled at Tonny’s inquiry, and wiped her mouth. “Aksel and I have created quite a hideaway. We have a very lovely tent in the corner of my room. We do all sorts of fun things in there – watch movies, play games ...” She was happily smiling at Aksel as she spoke. “We read lots of books, don’t we?”

The child nodded. “And I like to _sleep_ in there too, because it’s near the kitchen and Anouk gives me ice cream before I go to sleep.” Aksel only half-heartedly whispered this confession, and Anouk shushed him as Will and Tonny chuckled at how frank and honest five-year-olds tend to be.

“But won’t Daddy miss all your cuddles?” teased Tonny, smiling at his son.

“No,” Aksel picked at the carrots on his plate, “Daddy can cuddle with Hannibal, like he used to.”

Tonny’s face suddenly fell slack, his mouth agape in shock as time slowed and his mind dulled. He gradually turned towards Will across the table. _What? What did he say?_ Will, instantly paralyzed by the revelation, stared back at him, his eyes wide in guilt and horror. Will slowly shook his head at Tonny, silently begging him not to make a scene or even say a word.

“Wh-what?” Tonny stuttered over this single question, looking back at Aksel. His mind had devolved into a reeling mess of disbelief and repulsion. _What the fuck did he say?!_

Will interrupted him, imploring his silence. “Please drop it, Tonny.” At a loss for words, he stared at Tonny, having no reasonable justification to give for Aksel’s few innocent, yet cryptic words. Each possible explanation seemed more ridiculous than the last, and they were all basically lies.

Tonny remained calm, though he spoke through gritted teeth. “Fuck off, Will. I’m talking to my son.” His attention became fixed on Aksel. “What did you fucking say?”

Aksel, wide-eyed and nervous, stared at his father, assuming the harsh words and mounting tension were his fault. “It’s ok. I don’t have to sleep in the tent,” he whispered, averting his eyes to his plate.

Will’s heart stuttered in agony at Aksel’s self-condemning words as he stared at Tonny, who seemed unfazed by his son’s distress. Will mustered a feigned smile and looked back at Aksel. “Bud, you can sleep in the tent. It’s all right.” He immediately returned his eyes to Tonny, disgusted by the man’s insensitivity to his son’s needs. “Tonny, you need to stop.” Will’s slow and quietly-spoken demands fell only on deaf ears and seething rage. He continued in an attempt to save their son from the embarrassing questions that only Will himself could possibly deserve, “Think about what you want to say, and we’ll talk in another room. Leave him alone.”

Anouk had put down her fork and kept her gaze intently on Aksel, attempting to draw his attention away from the tangible emotional violence she could feel erupting between the two men. She caught the boy’s eyes and smiled pitifully at him. Hannibal, understanding now that Will had _not_ already divulged this information to Tonny, unapologetically smirked from his seat at the head of the table, eyeing them both, wondering only who would react first.

Tonny groped through his rage-addled mind, hastily searching for a way to learn exactly what Aksel had meant. He completely dismissed Will’s plea to speak alone; he _refused_ to be lied to. “Aksel, you’re done eating. Let’s go for a walk.” He glanced back at Will, whose eyes burned through him as Tonny rose from his seat and started toward the boy.

Aksel smiled, now thrilled by the option to not eat his dinner and the unexpected chance to play outside with his father. He excitedly slid out of his chair. “Ok! I can show you the grapes now!”

The color drained from Will’s face and his stomach knotted in revulsion as he imagined Tonny shamelessly extracting explicit details about his sexual infidelity from his own son. Steadfast and stern, his voice flat, Will tried one last time to tactfully explain to Tonny just how detrimental this heartless inquest might be to his son. “Tonny, he’s _not_ done eating. I said _we_ could talk.”

Disgusted and sickened by Will’s dismissive tone, Tonny sneered contemptuously, his eyes fuming with rage. “He’s _done,_  and I’ve got nothing to say to _you_.” He turned to Aksel, who was still nervously waiting in the doorway. “Go get ready, Aks,” he ordered, his voice harsh and bitter. Aksel bounded out of the room, Anouk anxiously slipping out after him.

Will rose from his chair, struggling to organize a valid argument for his seemingly malevolent betrayal. He stuttered over words, piecing together anything that could dissuade Tonny from his fallacious rationale to pursue Aksel. “Tonny, _please,”_ he begged. “Don’t bring Aksel into this. He doesn’t deserve that. Your problem is with me, not him.” He was clutching at straws, terrified that Tonny would refuse to hear reason.

Tonny, ignoring Will’s pathetic plea, finally discerned the painfully repugnant source of his humiliation and looked toward the head of the table, locking eyes with Hannibal. He had been intently watching all of this unfold, detached and emotionless despite his intimate involvement. Tonny ached to stab that motherfucker in his goddamn smug-ass face. He yearned to dive over the table and mercilessly beat him to a bloody fucking pulp. But _Will_ – his eyes slowly turned to focus on him – he wanted to _kill._ He wanted to torture that piece of shit, lying son of a bitch, until his eyes seeped with blood. He longed to snap each of his ribs one at a time. He wanted to crush every single bone in every single finger. He wanted to slice out his tongue and carve his name into Will’s flesh.

Tonny stumbled back from the table, stunned by the thoughts and emotions raging through his head. He stared blindly out through the dining room doorway, racked with indecision. _Run_. He attempted an unsteady step towards the door, but his focus was blurred  – he could see nothing but Hannibal’s humiliating smirk and Will’s weak, unapologetic stare. The hate and contempt for his tormentors boiled behind his eyes, and he clutched the chair where Aksel had sat moments ago. _Aksel._ Suddenly remembering his waiting son, he charged for the doorway. Hannibal quickly rose to catch Tonny’s arm, yanking him back into the room. “You will _not_ interrogate your son.” He wrenched Tonny’s shoulder around, forcing him to look him in the eyes. “We will discuss this, but as _adults._ And you _will_ calm down.”

Tonny lunged away from Hannibal’s grip, attempting to flee. He was hauled back into the room with a sharp jerk and slammed violently against the wall, knocking the wind from his lungs. Tonny gasped, clawing at Hannibal’s pinning forearm as he struggled to breathe.

The attack suddenly mutated into a battle of wills as neither Hannibal’s grip nor Tonny’s fury relented. Tonny, having regained his breath, focused on Hannibal’s impenitent eyes. “Go _fuck_ yourself!” he spit and futilely struggled to escape before his frantic gaze crossed Will’s paralyzed face. “No, go fuck _him!”_

Appalled by Hannibal’s sudden physical aggression, Will panicked. “What the _fuck_ are you doing?! Let him go!”

Ignoring Will’s demands, Hannibal repeated himself slowly, his face only inches from Tonny’s. “You will _not_ hurt your son.” His eyes burned deep into Tonny’s, their intensity reflecting Hannibal’s restraint from inflicting far worse tribulation upon his son than simply choking him against a wall.

Receiving no acknowledgment from Hannibal, and fearful of getting physically involved, Will’s attention returned to appealing to Tonny’s love for his son. “Tonny, _please.”_ He begged, carefully approaching the fray. “He’s a child. He doesn’t understand what’s going on. Calm down and listen to us.”

The indignity of hearing Will choose a side forced a scathing hiss to escape Tonny’s lips. _“Us?!_ Fuck _both_ you fucking bastards! Let go of me, you piece of _shit!”_

“No.” Hannibal’s eyes remained locked vehemently on his face as his grip tightened and he pressed his body against Tonny’s chest, crushing him further into the wall. “You _will_ listen to me.”

A madness trapped inside Tonny heaved from within, and what remained of his meager self-control leached from his pores. With a swift crack, his head bashed into Hannibal’s nose, causing the man to stumble back, releasing Tonny long enough for him to escape the attack and flee.

Will, aghast by the ordeal, rapidly wavered between pursuing Tonny, who would probably deck him on sight, or staying to assist the bleeding and disoriented Hannibal. He looked at Hannibal, who now stood in the middle of the room, appearing oddly placated despite Tonny’s assault. The blood running down his face slowly dripped onto his shirt as he stared back at Will.

“Let him go,” said Hannibal, interrupting Will’s indecision. “He’ll be fine.” He grinned at Will through his own blood, a gesture he intended to ease Will’s nerves, but which only compounded his anxiety.

Will’s mind was a mess of shock and denial. “What the _fuck_ was that?” Will cursed to himself, shaken and overwhelmed. He hesitated, turning to Hannibal, “I-I guess, I’m sorry?” But, even he had to admit, he wasn’t at all sorry, and he had no idea why he felt compelled to apologize to Hannibal – but he did. He didn’t agree with or appreciate Hannibal physically restraining Tonny when, he felt, Tonny was completely justified in his rage – but secretly, he was relieved that Hannibal had received the bloody blow instead of him.

Anouk quickly returned to the dining room with a towel that Hannibal gratefully held to his nose. He wiped away some of the blood and looked up at Will, still standing numb and confused by the table. “Not your fault, Will. You said it yourself – Tonny’s impulsive. I should have recognized the possibility of him biting back.” He sniffed and inspected the bloody towel. “I suppose now I don’t need to ask whether you told him about our relationship while he was in prison.” He sighed with a modicum of disgust and studied Will, who was now peering out the doorway.

“It never came up,” he mumbled, leaning further out to look for any sign of Tonny. Upon not immediately determining in what direction he’d fled, Will returned to Hannibal. “I was sort of hoping to avoid that conversation altogether.” He painfully winced as he inspected Hannibal’s broken nose.

“Your plan was flawless.” Hannibal smiled, seeming unfazed by being covered in copious amounts of blood.

Will grimaced and stepped back as he noticed a small red pool at Hannibal’s feet. “I, uh, think he just needs some time to process this.” He looked back to Hannibal as he attempted to convince himself that this wasn’t the _worst_ possible situation to be in – despite what Tonny might think. “He’ll be okay. I’ll talk to him and get him settled down. He just needs to understand what happened; he’ll be all right once he knows.” He wanted to believe his own words, forcing himself to deny all the possible horrific outcomes to Tonny’s discovery. They had just begun rebuilding a new and loving relationship, and Will had laid it all to waste. “He’ll be ok,” he assured himself. “I know it.”

* * *

“There are still some over here!” Aksel was crouched down looking under a grape leaf, motioning to Tonny to inspect some of the last bunches still hiding on the vine.

Tonny plodded towards his son, consciously forcing each foot to land in front of the other so as not to collapse. He absently glanced down at the grapes, unable to even feign a smile. He wanted to be delicate. He knew he was probably wrong to be doing this, but he was cornered, and there was no one in the house he could trust. His stomach churned, and a part of him was hoping Aksel understood enough to be able to tell him that his innocent comment was just that – innocent – despite what he already knew. “That’s cool, kid. Hey, can I ask you something?” He glanced over his shoulder, expecting Will to appear and try to stop him.

“Ok,” said Aksel, pulling on the grapes.

“When did you make that tent?” Tonny pointed towards the house. “In, uh, Anouk’s room.”

“I don’t know,” said Aksel, inspecting some grapes that had turned into raisins on the vine.

Tonny swallowed back his cracking voice and pressed the boy to remember. “Think, Aksel. Was it a present or something? When did you guys make it?”

Aksel beamed at the memory of their trip to the market and his ice cream treat. “It was for Papa’s birthday. I made him quiche and potatoes!” He smiled proudly at his father.

Tonny feigned a shred of excitement for his overjoyed son as his gut wrenched in knots. “How-How did you do that?”

“Hannibal showed me,” he explained, and Tonny winced in pain.

Tonny attempted to grin through the agony of piecing together what horrifying betrayal had happened in this house while he was imprisoned. “That’s … that’s neat. Aks, before I came to live here, did you sleep in the tent a lot?”

“Oh yeah, I _love_ the tent. Anouk put up lights inside. And there’s a bookshelf inside it – well, not inside it, but beside it, sort of. She puts new books on it every night. She says an elf puts them there, but I know it’s her.”

Tonny kneeled down beside his son and stabilized his voice, conflicted, but in desperate need of more concrete answers. “So what did Papa do while you were in the tent with Anouk?”

Aksel looked at him curiously. “I don’t know.” He returned to picking another handful of dried grapes off the vine.

He knew Aksel didn’t understand the gravity of this, but he felt an irritating compulsion take over his body, urging him to find out exactly what had transpired between Will and Hannibal. He had to press on – maybe a more specific inquiry would help Aksel remember. “Did Papa stay in his room all night?”

“I don’t know. Do you want a grape?” Aksel offered him his handful of shriveled grapes, but Tonny just shook his head, clearing his throat of the bile creeping up from his churning stomach.

“What about … Hannibal?” He could barely say his name. “Did he stay in his room all night?”

 _“These_ grapes are getting _too_ old.” Aksel poked at a shriveled bunch of sun-hardened grapes dangling from the vine. “These aren’t good to eat, but birds like them, so we can put them on the balcony by the bird feeder.”

Tonny choked on his panic as his voice grew louder, frustrated by Aksel’s lack of useful responses. “Aks, listen to me, ok? Listen! Did Hannibal ever sleep in Papa’s room?!”

Aksel looked away, frightened by Tonny’s agitated and now elevated voice. After a long, sullen pause, he scratched his cheek, then whispered, “No.” Tonny slowed his breath, trying to compose himself before Aksel continued. “Papa slept in Hannibal’s room, though. But I wasn’t allowed in there except in the morning – to ask about breakfast.”

Tonny’s heart suddenly sank in his chest and his breath wheezed like he’d been kicked in the gut. His mind flooded with nauseatingly graphic sexual images of what those two sick fucks did in Hannibal’s bed. He imagined Will telling his son that he wasn’t _allowed_ in there because he was too fucking busy swallowing Hannibal’s cock. He imagined Will locking the door to keep his child away while he fucked that manipulative cunt in the ass. He pictured Will’s naked body pressed against that cock sucking son of a bitch … His chest shuddered as he tried to regain control of his body and focus on the questions still floating around in his head. “H-How many times, Aks – how many time did you see Papa … in Hannibal’s room?”

“I don’t know. Anouk told me I had to leave them alone, so she makes me pancakes now so I don’t have to ask – but she won’t call them pancakes. She calls them something else.” Aksel was now absentmindedly gathering the yellow and gold grape leaves off the vine.

 _“Anouk_ told you …,” repeated Tonny in disbelief as his voice trailed off. He was suddenly plunged into abject shame. They all knew; they were all laughing at his ignorance behind his back.

“And she won’t let me put syrup on them either. I have to eat fruit.” He was sorting the leaves into three piles, and Tonny watched him play – blissfully unaware of how much his words were crushing his father’s heart.

Tonny clutched his hand against his forehead as he forced himself to continue. “Is Papa alone with Hannibal a lot?”

“We watch TV. And go to the market,” he remembered, starting a fourth pile of leaves.

His rage was rapidly overtaking his shame again. “Does Hannibal spend a lot of time with _you?”_ Imagining that bastard attempting to worm his way into Aksel’s life while he was locked up melted his mind into a hopeless despondency, and he started to wonder if _Hannibal_ was why Aksel had been having such a hard time readjusting to his return to their family. Did Aksel love Hannibal now? Or was Hannibal trying to turn his own son against him?  

“I help him cook!” Aksel smiled, remembering Hannibal’s egg tricks. “He’s fun!”

Tonny winced and grit his teeth at his son’s excited declaration, clenching his fists to avoid losing control. Trapped in this bottomless pit of misery and betrayal, his thoughts instinctively turned toward escape. A beam of hope suddenly penetrated his mind, burning away the palpable darkness that had been shrouding his senses. He turned toward his son again, his face calm and emotionless. “Aks, would you be ok if Daddy left you here for awhile? Do you think you’d be ok with that?”

“But you just got back.”

“I know. That’s why I want to make sure you’re ok with it.” Tonny finally stood up and weakly patted Aksel on the shoulder.

“Are you mad at Hannibal?” Aksel looking up at him and winced at the bright sun blinding him from behind his father.

“Yeah, Aks. I’m mad at Hannibal.” Tonny pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one.

Aksel face grew pensive and confused. “Are you mad at me?”

“Never,” said Tonny, shaking his head and taking a long drag.

“Are you mad at Papa?” the boy asked.

“I’m so mad at Papa I want to fucking kill him, Aks.”

Raising his eyebrows in shock, Aksel nervously stared at the ground in thought. “That’s pretty mad,” he whispered. His glassy eyes which began to well up with panicked tears, gazed back up at Tonny. “Please don’t kill Papa.”

Tonny’s breath stuttered in horror at his child’s terrified request. A shameful realization washed over him of just how carelessly he had chosen his words with his traumatized son, and he could barely reply. “I won’t, Aks,” he said, combing his hand through the boy's hair.

Aksel leaned against Tonny’s leg, burying his face in his sweatshirt. When he finally looked back up at his father, the man was blankly staring off into space. A cloud of smoke billowed from his nostrils like a volcano moments away from destroying everything he held dear. “Where are you going to go?” he asked, almost silently.

Tonny, repulsed and disgusted by the ordeal he'd just been through, dropped his cigarette to the ground and pressed his son’s cheek against his stomach. “I’m going home.”


	39. Re-behold the Pass

Tonny pulled up to the curb and parked. _How generous of that motherfucking cocksucking son of a bitch to let me borrow his goddamn car_ , he thought as he grit his teeth. He dropped his sunglasses over his eyes and reclined the leather seat, attempting to relax as he mulled over the last twenty-four excruciating hours. He needed time – he needed to get the hell away from those insufferable fucking bastards. It was a smothering god-awful prison in that house – no, it was _worse_ than prison. He would’ve preferred to have the shit kicked out of him every motherfucking day than endure the psychological torture that went on in that fucked-up household. _What a goddamn nightmare._ How the hell could Will have betrayed him so mercilessly? _He fucked him. He fucked that manipulative goddamn piece of shit, Hannibal – that old as fuck, arrogant prick put his cock in Will’s fucking mouth._ His mind dulled as he began wondering what else they may have done. _If he … no._ He tried to dismiss the thought, but it continued circling his mind like a ravenous shark. _If he fucked Will in the ass …_ He twisted his neck, grinding his teeth together as the rage overtook his mind again. He looked down at Will’s phone on the seat. He’d stolen it before he took off since he didn’t have one of his own anymore, and he peered at the screen. Will must have figured out he grabbed it – three missed calls, one voicemail, and six text message notifications appeared on the screen. He called the voicemail and listened to a panicked voice rattle on.

_“For fuck’s sake, Tonny, you can’t just fucking run away from your problems! You’re an adult! It was a huge fucking mistake. We have to talk about this. You have to come–”_

He hung up. _Fucking Will. You stupid fucking bitch. Jesus christ – Hannibal? You fucked Hannibal?!_ He knew there was something going on, _he fucking knew it._ He looked over at the white envelope on the passenger seat. Before Hannibal had handed him the keys to the car, he had shoved that envelope in his hand. Tonny had tried to drop it – he practically threw it – but Hannibal must have tucked it in the car before he left. About an hour into the drive to Copenhagen he looked inside. It contained 28000 DKr, about $4000 in cash. He’d been shocked at the time, wondering what the fuck it was supposed to be – an apology? – a payoff? – a gift? He didn’t fucking know, or fucking care, but he was getting _trashed_ tonight.

He had planned on heading out that morning after saying goodbye to Aksel when the boy woke up, but Tonny couldn’t sleep, so he aimlessly walked the house in a rage-filled daze. He ended up in the kitchen, where Hannibal’s medical bag had been left after they patched up his broken nose. Tonny had dumped the bag’s contents all over the kitchen before throwing some clothes in it, showering, and deciding to leave in the middle of the night. He arrived in the city at four in the evening. He was exhausted, but so incredibly thankful to be free and in Denmark. _Fuck everyone. This is where I need to be._ He sighed with relief, finally feeling at home after five long years of torment. He was parked outside a small Chinese restaurant in a very familiar part of the city, and decided to start spending Hannibal’s cash. _Fuck Will, that goddamn whore._

He opened the door and got out, circling the car to look at it from all angles. It was a pretty fucking awesome car, he had to admit that. At least Hannibal had good taste in luxury German engineering. He opened the passenger door to retrieve his bag and the envelope of cash when his thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a loud, nasally voice behind him.

“I don’t fucking believe it. I thought you _killed_ your old man? What the fuck are you doing still stealing cars for him?”

Tonny whipped around to look towards the voice. It was a man in a wrinkled, navy blue polo shirt and dirty cargo pants, with thick gold chains around his neck. He was carrying a couple brown paper bags and his hair was a mess, but damn if Tonny didn’t recognise him.

“Kurt the _fucking_ Cunt!” Tonny beamed with excitement as Kurt wrapped his arm around him and cracked him on the back, scoffing in disbelief.

“What the _fuck_ happened to you? You have fucking hair! I didn’t even know you could grow fucking hair!” He reached up and tousled Tonny’s messy brown hair. “Holy shit, man, what the hell are you doing here?”

“No idea. Probably gonna see Ø. Staying in the city for a while, I think.”

Kurt hissed. “You might wanna rethink seeing that asshat of a brother of yours. He’s a fucking dickhead.”

Tonny wasn’t entirely surprised to hear him say that. He hadn’t spoken to Ø since he had fled Denmark, and there was bound to be at least a small rift between them when it came to what happened to the Duke. “Eh, fuck it then. What the hell is _this?”_ he said, flicking the collar of Kurt’s polo.

He laughed. “Hey. Watch yourself, Tonnyboy. I cleaned up. You like it?” Kurt slowly turned around to let Tonny get a good look at his disheveled appearance. “You know I got another kid now? Can you believe that shit? What the fuck was I thinking ...”

“Your arm looks better than last time.” Tonny smirked at the memory of shooting Kurt in the arm to evade the wrath of his father.

“Oh fuck yeah, I forgot. A lot happens in five years,” he said, holding out his forearm to show Tonny the bullet scar. “You’re a hell of a shot – but only from five fucking centimeters.”

Tonny scoffed at his mockery. “What’s that?” he said, nodding towards the paper bags in Kurt’s hand.

“My _private-time_ diet. Shit from this place.” He motioned towards the Chinese restaurant beside them. “I’m heading to my place, you coming?”

“Fuck yeah!” Tonny gladly walked with Kurt back to his old basement apartment, excitedly jabbering the entire way.

When they finally entered the apartment, it looked like a snapshot back in time. Sure, there was a lot less shit everywhere, and all the electronics and furniture they’d trashed had been replaced, but the basic feel of the place was exactly the same – cramped, dingy, but comfortable. On his way to the kitchen, Kurt threw his keys on the glass coffee table as Tonny explored this bizarre world that had continued to exist despite his desertion of his old life. His fingers touched the drywall, trailing across the dents he’d put there. He ran his hand across the same dirty couch – the same ugly ass chair – the same filthy windows. A metal baseball bat still leaned in the corner, at the ready against any unexpected hostility. He inspected the new TV and noticed a twisted yellow plastic bag next to it. He picked it up and reached inside, pulling out three large baggies of white powder, each sealed with a rubber band at the top. “What’s this?” he asked, holding up the bags so Kurt could see it from the kitchen.

“Oh, that’s some scag I’ve had for awhile. Shit’s crap though. Cut with something fucking _awful_.” He laughed. “Need to get rid of it.” Kurt was still chuckling to himself for some unknown reason.

Tonny smiled, still holding the bags. “What’s so funny?”

“I just can’t believe a dumb fuck like you actually fucking learned something. You asked what shit was rather than just fucking takin’ it. Last time you were here, you were snorting fucking rat poison, remember?” He chuckled a guttural laugh at Tonny’s stupidity.

Tonny nodded, unfazed by his insults – they didn’t even register here. He vaguely remembered that part of his horrible last night in Copenhagen … speed and rat poison. “I thought you said you cleaned up, Cunt?” He smiled and tossed the bag back next to the TV.

“I did! As far as the old lady’s concerned, I’m as clean as a motherfucking whistle.” He brought in four Chinese food containers and a couple beers, dropping it all on the coffee table before falling back onto the couch. “Help yourself,” he said to Tonny. He picked up a remote and turned on the TV.

“You got fucking manners and everything, Kurt! What the fuck happened? You get hit by a bus?”

Kurt sneered, still staring at the TV. “Worse. I got fucking in-laws.”

Tonny doubled over with laughter. “You poor fucking bastard!” He threw his bag on the floor, picked up a box of greasy noodles and a beer, and flopped back on the couch with Kurt. An old friend, Chinese, beer, and he was speaking in Danish – not bad for his first hour home. Tonny was in fucking heaven.

“It’s not all bad, being married,” said Kurt. “Used to get plenty of free pussy. Now I’m stuck hiding here to get away from all the fucking kids. I forgot how loud-as-fuck babies are, and my ten year old’s turnin’ into a little bitch just like her mama.”

Tonny scoffed, half-heartedly sympathizing with him. Aksel was never that loud, and even when he was, the volume never bothered Tonny. Aksel’s cry grated on his nerves in a way that made him despise seeing him in pain – he’d do anything to keep his son from feeling that way, least of all, leave him when he was hurting. He could never leave Aksel like that. He thought for a moment – maybe he could leave him? – maybe he _did._ The thought was sobering and he shifted uncomfortably on the couch.

“So where the hell have you been hiding for five fucking years, man? You just disappeared one night. And that little trick you pulled, taking your kid – holy hell – I wish you could have seen the fallout from that shit.”

A very minute part of Tonny was curious to know what Kurt meant by _fallout._ There couldn’t have been fallout from him simply leaving. Charlotte had barely noticed Aksel being gone. He had given her the opportunity to get on with her goddamn life as a coked up whore, without all the shit that comes with being a single parent. Tonny had taken that bullet for her and raised Aks all by himself – well, with Will, of course – he’d helped some. And the only reason Charlotte even cared about wanting the kid back was because she ran out of money – six fucking months later. He figured Ø and Gry probably started their new life together as newlyweds, and Gry would’ve had their kid by now, too – hell, maybe Ø took over the Duke’s garage after his death? They’ve probably been having a sweet little life here since he left – What fallout? He did everyone a damn favor by moving overseas – “The States,” said Tonny, finally answering Kurt’s question.

“What’d you come back here for?”

Tonny glared at him. How the hell could he ask him that?

“Oh fuck, yeah. Sorry man, forgot.” Kurt chuckled to himself. “You know, they say – third time’s the charm. Maybe you’ll be out for good now.” Kurt continued staring at the barely audible TV, still shoveling saucy, oily chicken in his mouth. “That was an interesting thing – what happened when you got out. Heard you didn’t do any time for what you did to your old man. That’s gotta be a relief to you.” He slowly turned to stare at Tonny.

“Just good fucking luck, I guess.”

 _“Good luck,”_ he snickered, taking a swig of beer, “I’m not sure I’d call it _that.”_

Tonny furrowed his brows, confused and worried. “What’s that mean?”

“I just think it’s pretty fucking ballsy for you to show your face here – especially now.” Kurt’s attention returned to the TV, and Tonny was left quite disconcerted by those vague remarks. Kurt cleared his throat and continued their conversation. “What were you doing in the States?”

Tonny sighed. “Working on a farm,” he said casually, still picking at his noodles and remembering how terrified he’d been ascending the farmhouse steps for the first time; but he had felt relief, too – relief at having a stable roof and a warm bed for Aksel that he wouldn’t have had without Will. He was drawn from his memories by Kurt’s loud obnoxious laugher.

“You shittin’ me? What the fuck do you know about farming?”

Tonny peered into his food, snickering. “Nothing. But I guess they never caught on.” Kurt rolled with laughter.

When he finally calmed down, Kurt turned and watched Tonny picking through his food. “Get yourself some American pussy?” he suddenly asked.

Tonny scratched his face nervously as Kurt eyed him suspiciously. “Plenty,” said Tonny.

“That so?”

“Yeah. What?!”

“Nothin’,” said Kurt, glancing back at the TV. “Nothin’ at all, Tonnyboy.”

Tonny glared at the side of Kurt's head. That fucking bastard knew something. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Just heard that maybe pussy ain’t your thing anymore.” Kurt nonchalantly picked through the boxes of food on the table, still occasionally glancing up at the TV.

“Who says that?”

“Couple guys I know.”

Tonny scoffed. “Well they can suck my cock,” he chuckled.

“Pretty sure one of ‘em already has,” said Kurt, glancing at Tonny to gauge his reaction.

Tonny paused in thought, attempting to figure out who Kurt could be referring to. It was a long list, and he wasn’t even sure which of his old buddies were still living in Denmark anymore. He was pulled away from his thoughts when he finally noticed Kurt staring at him, shaking his head.

“See, Tonny? Now you’re thinking of _all_ the faggots that have sucked your cock. Obvious as shit, man. You never were that smart.” He scoffed and continued eating. “And we all knew what was up with you and Frank.”

Tonny ignored him and realized he couldn't narrow the list. It could be almost anyone from his past. Frank and he weren’t entirely silent about their relationship, though they did keep it relatively hidden – entirely at Frank’s request. But who cares, anyway? He wasn't here to debate this shit. “Yeah, well, fuck you.” He grumbled to himself and leaned back on the couch with his food.

They sat in silence for a while before Kurt grew somewhat serious. “You caused a lot of shit last time you were here, but you cleaned my fucking slate, and I owe you for that. But damn, you missed a shitstorm after you killed your old man.” He set down his container and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “You have no fucking idea,” he snickered, lighting a smoke.

“I don’t want to know, Kurt. Seriously. Fuck ‘em all.” Tonny suddenly felt queasy thinking about his last night in Copenhagen. He glanced around the apartment, recalling the events of that evening – the last time he’d been in Kurt’s apartment. The final image seared into his brain was of watching Kurt bash in some whore’s head, right over there – his eyes drifted across the floor toward the kitchen. Moments after that, Tonny had hopped out the window and ran back to Ø and Gry’s wedding reception at the bar, where his father was waiting for him to go for a drive and _talk._ He shook his head in an attempt to physically remove the memory from his mind.

“Okay, man.” Kurt agreed to drop it, though the couldn’t believe Tonny didn’t want to know. He suddenly remembered the car Tonny was exiting when they ran into each other. “Hey, where’d you get that fucking Beemer?”

Tonny hesitated, racking his mind for an appropriate response. He could say it was his, but it was obvious as shit that wasn’t right. He could lie and say he borrowed it from a friend, but fuck if he was going to refer to Hannibal as a friend – even if it was for a stupid fake explanation. “Borrowed it from some guy,” he decided.

“Got yourself a sugar daddy, Tonny?” Kurt chuckled a wheezing, barking laugh that surrounded his head in cigarette smoke.

Tonny glared at him. “Fuck no, and fuck you. The guy’s an asshole, but he owed me one.”

Kurt leaned back, dumbstruck by Tonny’s response. “What the hell would a guy with a Beemer have to do to owe a dipshit like you a favor?”

Tonny cringed, finally feeling the insults when being compared to Hannibal. “The shithead’s a total asshole. He decides to ass-fuck this whore I’ve been with for five goddamn years, and he does it like a fucking coward while I’m locked up. Broke the asshole’s nose when I found out. I think I might just keep the car though – or sell it. If I do give it back to him, I’m gonna fucking destroy it first. Teach that fucker a lesson.”

Kurt stared at Tonny, skeptical of his story, but amused nonetheless. “That’s the kind of shit your old man would be proud to hear you say,” said Kurt, pointing at Tonny.

“Fuck him. And stop bringing him up. Jesus, Kurt, it’s annoying.”

Kurt laughed at Tonny’s sensitivity to hearing about his father. “Damn, Tonny. All that cum you’re swallowing is turning you into a fucking pansy-ass woman.” Tonny reached over and punched him in the back of the head, but Kurt continued laughing anyway. “So where you living now?” He nonchalantly offered Tonny a cigarette which he happily accepted.

“France,” he said, and immediately regretted divulging that information, though he wasn’t quite sure why.

“France? You drove all the way here from France? Why the fuck would you do that?”

“Felt like it. I’m on vacation,” he smiled, lighting his cigarette.

“Ha. Yeah, take it easy Tonny. You deserve a break after all that hard work in prison,” said Kurt, rolling his eyes.

“Fuck you. I deserve a fucking break! This year has been total shit for me.”

“Yeah, for you and fucking _everybody_ else.” Kurt’s waning attention returned to the mesmerizing lights of the TV. “I’m dealing with my shit-for-brains brother-in-law right now. He’s out of work and lost his fucking house, so now he’s living in _my_ house. And the bastard’s got two of his own goddamn kids, and they got shit-for-brains too!” He puffed on his cigarette, now staring at the ceiling, wondering what else had happened this year to make him hate his fucking life. “Oh, my bitch’s old mother is a piece of work and has fucking cancer. So I’m dealing with that shit, too.” He rolled his eyes. “Fuck ... _and_ my son was born. Damn, this _has_ been a fucking shitty year.” He picked up several now-empty Chinese containers and carried them to the kitchen trash can. Tonny thought about Kurt’s year: lost jobs, shuffling families, illnesses, fights … he could relate – kind of. He understood why Kurt might be upset by the birth of his son, but maybe not why he’d consider the baby a shitty part of his year – not that Tonny wanted more kids, but when he found out about Aksel, he had actually felt proud … for the first time in his life.

By the time Kurt came back, Tonny was finished eating and had reclined back on the couch, staring towards – but not at – the TV, still lost in thought. A filled plastic bag landed on his lap with a thud and he looked down at it.

“Merry fuckin’ Christmas,” said Kurt.

“What the hell is this?” asked Tonny, fingering the bag of powder in his hand. “More rat poison?”

Kurt chuckled. “Nah. You still a coke head? Ya look like it.” Kurt sniffed his nose and dumped a pile of cocaine on the table as he flopped back into the chair across from Tonny. He cut the coke into lines and looked back up at him. “And you can consider it just a drop in the bucket of what the fuck I owe you.” He shook his head, thinking about how close he’d come to being strung up by the Duke.

“Can I stay here for a while, then? Since Ø’s probably gonna be a dick?” asked Tonny, watching Kurt cut more lines.

“Fuck, I don’t care. I’m not going to be here the whole week, though. I gotta get back to the bitch and my fuckin’ kids,” he said, rubbing his nose. “Goddamn, my life’s gone to shit.” He stretched his neck as he cut more cocaine.

Tonny smiled, relieved to officially have a place to stay, and looked back at the coke in his fingers, relishing the weight of it in his hand before tossing it into his bag. He watched Kurt snort two of his four lines and sit back in the chair, sniffling. Tonny leaned over the table and quickly snatched the straw from his sweaty hand.

“Hey! I just fucking gave you a bag!” hollered Kurt.

“Yeah, well, I’m saving mine,” he said, before snorting Kurt’s last two lines off the table.


	40. Three Faces on his Head!

“We appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Graham,” said the officer as he headed to the front door. “Yeah, well, I didn’t really have a choice, did I?” Will’s hands trembled as he pushed the officer out the door. “Please,” he said, motioning outside. “I said I had nothing to hide, and this proves that. I really didn’t appreciate this intrusion. You have my statements and my alibis – so, leave … please.”

The police officer cleared his throat, unappreciative of Will’s tone. “This was not my call, Mr. Graham. The Chief Super–”

“Yes ... I know.  _ Don’t blame the messenger. _ Please leave.” The officer shook his head and calmly joined the four others waiting outside. The police had just finished a thorough raid of the house after a particularly grueling interrogation of Will about the four murders in Denmark. Will, still enraged by the intrusion, slammed the door in disgust and spun around, still sneering, his eyes falling on Hannibal who was leaning in the dining room doorway. He huffed, shaking his head at the insanity surrounding him. He calmed himself and took a deep breath, his gaze reassessing the gash across Hannibal’s nose. Green and purple shadows now surrounded the man's eye. Hannibal somehow managed to wear his injuries with grace and dignity, and Will hoped the police hadn’t pressed to find out more about them. It had been several days since Tonny had fled the chateau in the middle of the night, and tensions inside the house were mounting. The last thing he needed was for Tonny’s physical assault to garner more suspicion. “This is insane,” he said to Hannibal. “They are seriously trying to build a case against me.”

“You have nothing to hide, Will.”

“I know that, but it’s not like the world isn’t full of injustices. The fact that Tonny is sauntering around Copenhagen right now, a goddamn murderer …”

“Will,” cautioned Hannibal, nodding to the officers still outside the door. He brought his finger to his lips and nodded towards the drawing room.

Will nervously peered out the window one final time and saw nothing. Suddenly, a loud pounding erupted from behind the door, and he jumped. Will hated that goddamn sound – the impatient hammering of a police officer signaled nothing but tragic news or a sanctioned intrusion. That unexpected, almost frantic banging always sent terrified chills up his spine – which was ironic, because at one time, Will had been on the other side of that door. “What the hell now?” After the endless questionings of the last several hours, Will's nerves were shot.

Hannibal pushed him aside to answer the door himself. The same officer stood on the porch, a mass of others milling about behind him.

“Ah, Dr. Lecter, I do have another question for you, actually. I’m, uh, sorry to bother you again. I just need a statement of your whereabouts on the twenty-eighth of August. It was the only thing I forgot to ask.” He smiled, attempting to be polite.

Hannibal glared at the man, emotionless and detached. “I was here.”

Taken aback by his curt response, he continued, “W-With Mr. Graham?” He pointed to Will standing in the living room doorway behind him.

“Yes.”

Will eyed him from the doorway, questioning Hannibal’s lie, unable to imagine why would put himself in such a compromising position.

The officer furrowed his brows, apparently concerned by some inconsistencies in their stories. “All day? What about that night?”

“All day and night. Will was – as he said earlier – incapacitated with grief after his partner and child were taken from him. I was ensuring that he rested.”

“Mr. Graham claimed he was here alone. Are you sure about your statement? Perhaps your date is incorrect?” The officer tilted his head, studying Hannibal.

“Mr. Graham may have assumed that, but as his doctor and his friend, I had no intention of leaving him alone in that emotional state. I allowed him to mourn alone, but remained here in the event that he needed help.”

The officer nodded, still suspicious. “Uh, ok. Do you have any evidence of that?”

“Evidence that I was in my own home on a specific day two months ago? No.” Hannibal shook his head. “Do you have any more questions?”

“No, that’s all,” admitted the officer, looking flustered.

Hannibal peered around the man at the squad still standing on his porch. “Good evening, officers.” He closed the door with a perturbed sigh and scanned Will’s face, who was about to speak. Hannibal brought his finger to his lips again; and Will took his suggestion to remain silent. Disconcerted and now confused, Will straightened his posture, leering at him. The situation felt to Will very staged, like a game – a trick they’d played on these honest law enforcers, and Hannibal appeared entirely too at ease for what the police had done to his home. Will was filled with a disturbing apprehension, the source of which he was having trouble identifying.

Hannibal watched the officers through the door window, carefully unbuttoning his sleeve cuffs. Two of them peered around the edges of his house, scanning his property one final time. Eventually they retreated to their vehicles and drove away.

Hannibal turned to Will, whose hands rested on his hips as he scrutinized him. “What?” barked Hannibal.

“Why did you lie to them?”

“How do you know I lied?”

“You weren’t here, Hannibal. I know you weren’t.”

“A gift horse, Will,” he said, glancing out the window again. “I’m respected here. It gave strength to your alibi.”

“Where did you actually go that night?”

“I don’t remember, Will. It was two months ago. I was likely in Dijon, or on my way back from Paris.”

Will was not convinced by that response, but he took Hannibal’s advice to not question his motives. “This whole day can fuck off,” he said, heading to the drawing room. The weight of the day was finally crashing over him. He flopped down on the couch and held his face in his hands. “Jesus christ, what the hell is going on? I thought they cleared me – the Chief said he cleared me.”

“I thought they had, too.” Hannibal was still peering out the window as the last vehicle pulled out of his driveway. He turned and joined Will, slipping into a leather chair. “This is somewhat unexpected.”

“You think?” Will scoffed and shook his head. Of course it was all unexpected; this whole situation had been resolved months ago. On a subsequent call from the Chief, Will was informed that despite having made no arrest, he was cleared of all suspicion. Barring some miraculous new evidence, Will should have been ignored. He should have been free to carry on with his tragic little existence without interruption. Yet, here he was, left in a frantic state of confusion and worry, terrified of how much damage he’d done to his credibility by traveling to Copenhagen so many months ago.

Hannibal leaned forward, looking somewhat troubled. “Will, what exactly did you say to the Chief when you visited him?”

“Nothing that would give them cause for a warrant to search my home! I had my notebook with me – which he claimed proved that I was obsessed with the murders. And he insisted that I gave him a motive when we spoke, but I explained the situation, and he seemed to accept my answers. I mean, if it was that incriminating, wouldn’t they have charged me  _ then _ instead of sending me home?” He slid down on the couch to rest his aching neck. “He did call Jack though, but I have no idea what they talked about.”

“Why would he call Jack?”

“I told him to. I thought he could convince the Chief to let me consult with the team. I’m starting to think that Jack told him I was a psychotic, paranoid schizophrenic.” He sighed and rubbed his temples.  _ One day _ , thought Will,  _ I want one goddamn day without a ton of bricks landing on my fucking head. Why the hell can’t I have that?!  _

They both looked up when they heard the front door latch click open. Aksel came bounding in, just in front of Anouk, with a big black paper bag, and ran to his father to show off its contents. “Look how much candy we got!”

Will scratched his face and sighed at the boy, trying to appear less distraught than he actually was. “Let me see, bud.” He feigned excitement as he peered into the bag of colorful candies. “Did you have a good time?”

“We had a few minor upsets,” said Anouk, joining them. “But the rest of the time was fine; right, mon trésor?” She smiled at Aksel who beamed back at her. She encouraged him to remove his wet shoes and coat and head to the tent to read before bed. The boy did as she asked, dropping his muddy clothing on the floor as he trotted off, still clutching his bag of candy. It was only six o’clock, but reading before bed would often take two full hours.

Will stood up and pawed at his exhausted eyes. “I can read him something Anouk. You’ve done enough. And thank you for taking him out after they got here. Jesus fucking christ, what a nightmare.”

She smiled. “It’s ok, Will. And I actually think he needs a bath first. We found a few puddles.” She chuckled and glanced behind her, noting the muddy foot prints across the rug.

“Oh, um, I’ll get those instead then.” Will sighed, drained and fed up, staring dismally at the mud prints trailing across the floor. Several overlapped the boot prints left by the patrol that had swept through the house, searching for god knows what and leaving only chaos. Will scanned the living room, wearily taking inventory of the destruction. He shook his head at the bookshelves, now a disorganized mess, and at Hannibal’s desk that now stood in total disarray. He tried to ignore the copy of the search warrant still sitting on the coffee table. He pushed it all out his mind, forcing himself back into his role as a father, as he refocused on Aksel’s shoe prints. He grumbled to himself, envying the old Will, who had no relationships to manage at all, as he started towards the kitchen to gather cleaning supplies.

Hannibal piped up to stop him. “Nonsense, Will. Neither of us has eaten since breakfast. Let’s get dinner somewhere. This mess can wait.”

His suggestion shocked Will, though he was quite relieved to avoid cleaning up. “Somewhere?”

“Yes, somewhere. Do you feel like cooking? Or, more importantly, do you feel like staring at this mess any longer? I don’t.”

Will cocked his head. “No, not really. But wouldn’t it be customary to get something like pizza or take-out after you’ve had your house ransacked by police?”

He smirked at Will and stood up, a scheme already filling his mind. “No. That’s not customary at all, Will – at least not in my home. And I know a place we can go – though you may want to change,” he said, his eyes inspecting Will’s disheveled clothing. His smirk soured as he continued, “And we’ll have to take the bike, as your  _ better _ half has conveniently stolen my car.” Hannibal started toward the stairs, beginning to unbutton his shirt along the way.

Becoming concerned with their mode of transportation, Will winced at the thought. “The … bike?” He was not looking forward to riding on the back of Hannibal’s motorcycle – especially with his chest and pelvis pressed so lewdly against the man’s back.

Hannibal turned back toward him, narrowing his eyes at Will’s reflexive grimace. “Yes. The bike,” he stated flatly. After all, he  _ was _ still speaking English, and didn’t care to mince words. “I hadn’t anticipated a need to haul passengers. I’m glad I went with a Bonneville now,” he mused, ascending the stairs.

* * *

 

After a terrifying, forty-five minute motorcycle ride, Will and Hannibal found themselves at a table in an small but elegant restaurant. The lights were dim, soft piano music filled the air, and fresh flowers adorned every table, giving the ambiance an exceedingly seductive feel. They sat near a window that overlooked a calm street – a relatively secluded location. Only a few quiet, though unabashedly amorous couples occupied the tables behind Will. Naturally, Will was quite distressed by this unusually romantic arrangement and found himself regretful for agreeing to come.

Hannibal, of course, had already ordered their food and wine as soon as they arrived. Will hadn’t caught any of his complicated French instructions – aside from the occasional  _ merci _ . Unwilling to look foolish by asking questions, he ignored the fact that he had no say in what he was about to be served. Though his lack of insight into their forthcoming meal troubled him slightly, his mind was far too busy mulling over the previous disastrous week to care about the trivial matter of food. Tonny had uncovered Will’s infidelity, the police ransacked the house, and the Chief had now fingered Will as a murderer. He was unsure which event upset him most.

Will and Hannibal hadn’t spoken at any great length since Tonny had unceremoniously stormed out. Will seemed to explode with rage any time Hannibal attempted to mention Tonny. Will was, in truth, outraged with himself more than anyone else. He found himself tangled within a regrettable lie, and he felt ashamed of himself, vulnerable, and weak. These nerve-wracking feelings always made him generally anxious and short-tempered. He was also disgusted to have watched Aksel play any part in Tonny’s unfortunate discovery. Everything felt out of control again, and Will’s composure was deteriorating, particularly in the mere hours since the police raid of Hannibal's home. He was determined, however, not to talk about the Ripper or the police visit. His mind was still reeling from that incursion, and he needed time to decompress. In reality, he was somewhat looking forward to getting Hannibal’s perspective on Tonny – he'd had several days now to process his rapid departure, and while Will was still defensive about what happened,  he was hopeful that his dear friend – and psychiatrist, after all – would be sensitive to his emotional strife. He was certain Hannibal could help him work through the turmoil that had wracked his mind since Tonny’s deplorable revelation.

Will reclined in his chair, staring at his apéritif, a blackcurrant Kir, wondering if they would refill his glass if he downed it in a single swig. His toe fidgeted against the helmet he’d tucked under the table when they first arrived. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with him.” He gulped his drink and rubbed the back of his neck, discouraged and aggravated by his inability to form a succinct plan of action. “And by the way, it was completely irresponsible for you to let him drive off to Copenhagen alone – he’s a goddamn drug addict, Hannibal, and you pushed him into a fucking lion’s den overrun with drug-dealing lions.”

Hannibal chuckled and leaned back in his chair, swirling his own drink casually. “Don’t you trust Tonny, Will?”

“No, Hannibal, I can’t – especially when it comes to drugs. He has no self-control.” Will sighed and leaned his elbows on the table. “But I can’t say I’ve ever really trusted him. He makes terrible decisions and has this total inability to see how his actions have tangible consequences. And I don't mean just for himself. Everyone around him suffers, too.”

“Well that seems a bit hypocritical, Will – considering your current situation.” Hannibal tapped his broken nose, smirking at Will’s unamused expression. “Why do you think he wanted to leave? I was under the impression you had him accustomed to talking about problems, not running from them.”

“ _ Accustomed? _ He’s not a trained monkey, Hannibal. And I’d imagine he was just really pissed-off and had no idea what to do with all that anger – so he threw a goddamn tantrum like a child. He's never acted like an adult. Everything's a fucking joke to him until suddenly it's  _ not, _ and he bolts.” Will rubbed his eyes and looked around the dimly-lit dining room in exasperation. “But I still can’t believe he ran away like  _ that _ , though – in the middle of the goddamn night, like he was fleeing some war-torn country. We didn’t even get a chance to talk about why it happened. He still thinks I hopped into your bed with complete disregard for our relationship.”

Hannibal raised his eyebrows and snickered. “Isn’t that exactly what you did? Do you think you’re blameless in all this, Will? I think you’re being very hard on Tonny.”

Will scoffed at Hannibal’s assumption and was becoming annoyed that he seemed to be taking Tonny’s side. “No, and I don’t think I’m blameless. But Tonny should've given me ten goddamn minutes to explain my side of the situation.”

“Do you think you deserve that?”

Will dropped his hands and stared at him in disgust. He couldn’t believe he’d say something like that. “Do I think I deserve ten minutes of Tonny’s fucking time? Yes, yes I deserve that. He has no idea what actually happened. He has no idea how I felt about him being in prison, or felt about his insistence that I leave him alone. That hurt me. But he’s never going to acknowledge that.  _ I  _ was under the impression that he was finished with our relationship. I don’t think it’s fair for him to get to say  _ he's _ done, while I'm still forced to adhere to some remaining commitment I'm not aware of. That’s bullshit.” Feeling himself growing more and more agitated, Will brusquely downed the rest of his apéritif. He impatiently waited for the server to fill their wine glasses instead. If Hannibal’s initial tone was any indication, this was going to be a long, long night.

“But was your relationship really finished? You were still the caretaker of his son. That doesn’t sound like a relationship that’s dissolved, Will. You were taking care of his child, and in his father’s home, no less.”

Will shook his head, aghast that he even brought up his paternity. “He doesn’t know that – and it’s irrelevant.”

“But still – there seems to be an inconsistency here. You didn’t seem as separated as one might assume of a broken relationship. It was only a week after you found out about Tonny's initial verdict that you took advantage of the situation and came into my bed.”

Will scrunched up his forehead, disturbed by this choice of words. “Excuse me? Took advantage? What are the hell are you implying?”

“Not that you took advantage of me, Will –,” he signed, “but that you saw an opportunity to finally be physically and mentally satisfied, and you took it. I can understand your desire to want something better after four years stuck with Tonny. But I even said it then, it did feel a bit soon for someone who was grieving.”

Indignation filled Will as he listened to Hannibal, once again, criticize his actions while griefstricken. “If this is the way you felt, why didn’t you say something before we did anything? You make it sound like you were fully aware of Tonny’s feelings about our relationship and how I was irresponsibly coping. And you disregarded both.”

Hannibal smirked. “I’m not one to pry, Will, nor is it my responsibility to correct your behavior. And as I’ve said before, what we did was purely a result of your mental and physical needs. It had nothing to do with me or mine. I was only involved to help you.”

“You didn’t feel guilty about it at all? I mean, I’m supposedly your friend, and he’s your son – so didn’t you betray us both?”

Hannibal clenched his jaw in frustration. “You’re blameshifting, Will. And as you have said, who was I to question your grieving process? And I have no obligation to coddle Tonny; he’s an adult. Should I have felt guilty? I don’t see any reason to. Did you feel guilty at the time?”

“Did I feel guilty  _ then? _ I don’t know – maybe. I was under a lot of stress – but I know that’s no excuse for my actions. Do I feel guilty now? Of course I do. I didn’t know Tonny still assumed we were together, but I had no idea he felt that way. He already told me he hated me most of the time he was in prison.” Will rubbed his eyes under his glasses and leaned back in his chair, feeling his mounting exhaustion setting in. “Maybe I should have realized he was hurting, or scared … but it isn’t fucking fair to make me guess how he feels. Do I feel guilty? Yes, I feel guilty. I hurt him. I’m not inhuman.”

“But you weren’t feeling guilty enough to try and stop him from leaving?” said Hannibal, finally finishing his well-savored apéritif.

Will had to wonder if Hannibal had suffered a concussion from the blow to his face – or perhaps temporary amnesia. Hannibal had stood there listening to Will attempting to reason with Tonny as he stormed through the house just before he left. “I did try to stop him! But he won’t listen to me! He refuses to listen to reason and constantly shuts everyone out.”

A waiter approached the table and displayed a bottle of wine, which Hannibal accepted. “I think you are still trying to blame Tonny for all this, Will,” he said, watching his glass fill.

“I’m not blaming him, Hannibal. I just don’t see him as a victim.” Will sipped the last droplets of his Kir, anticipating a full glass of wine. His nerves were fraying further with each passing minute.

“But you don’t seem to see your own faults or the role you played in all this. Tonny’s not simply running from your infidelity, Will. He’s running away from your abandonment.” He watched as Will exhaled a long, irritated sigh that curled into a hateful sneer.

Their server suddenly appeared, presenting their amuse-bouches and positioning them meticulously in front of them each. Both plates featured a bite-sized square of croque monsieur, carp mousse with black sesame seeds, and a crisp parmesan chip topped with goat’s cheese and thin slices of pear.

Will stared at the plate with a strange melange of self-consciousness and curiosity, still annoyed by Hannibal’s unwelcome commentary. It wasn’t that Will found fine dining to be ridiculous – he did have a particular taste for finer things, he thought – but he would never intentionally seek it out in this form. From the outset he had rightly assumed this would be a restaurant featuring tiny food on oversized plates. Though impressed by the presentation of his food, the stuffy atmosphere and rigid protocol of fine dining distressed him, and the nature of their conversation wasn’t helping either. “I don’t like this growing trend of you blaming me for all of Tonny’s problems.”

“I wouldn’t call him running away from emotional and physical betrayal a problem of  _ his,  _ Will. You are ultimately the one that chose to do what you did.” Hannibal studied his plate, his attention now far more invested in the food than the company.

Will glared at him, attempting to temper his growing frustration. “But you blame me for his addiction, his relapses – hell, his behavior in general. I’m too controlling, too overbearing, and I don’t give him enough responsibilities – I don’t really appreciate the implication that I am Tonny’s keeper.”

After a long, overindulgent tasting, with Hannibal's mouth mulling over the three delicacies, he looked back up at Will having finally heard what he had said. “So, you do feel blameless? If the blame doesn’t fall to you, Will, where does it fall? Do you also blame Tonny for your infidelity?”

Feeling belittled, Will retorted vehemently, “The responsibility should fall on the man that abducted his son. It should fall on the man that murdered his father. It should fall on the person that has destroyed my life – his life – his son’s life …” He shook his head, embittered. “But I don’t blame him for my infidelity. I’m just saying there are consequences to everyone’s actions. I’m not the only one at fault here.” Will stared at his plate, wondering what he was expected to do with its contents. He’d watched Hannibal savoring each tiny flavor combination, and his plate was now almost cleared. In an effort to keep up, Will uncouthly devoured whatever appeared to be edible, and he found that it was  _ all _ edible, thankfully.

Hannibal noticed Will hurrying to clean his plate and grinned at his flustered appearance. “Do you believe you would have stayed faithful to Tonny if you hadn’t come to Europe?”

“What do you think? Do I look like the unfaithful type?” he snapped, wiping his mouth.

“Actions would indicate yes,” said Hannibal, and Will looked away in indignation. “Barring Tonny's arrest a year ago, do you think you'd still be with him at this point in time?”

“We were working on our relationship before he got arrested. It was going … fine.”

Hannibal snickered at this blatant lie. “Was it? It doesn’t appear to me that your relationship has ever been fine, Will. You've struggled to maintain anything, even from the very beginning. Do you think he’s not tired of that? I know he’s tried to leave you before. He tries and he fails. Why do you think he fails?”

Being reminded of Tonny’s constant desire to leave him did nothing but compound the anxiety already building within Will. He didn’t want to discuss any of this with Hannibal. And how did he know Tonny tried to leave him? Will ran his finger along the edge of his empty plate as he decided between speaking in present or past tense.  Attempting to stay optimistic, he chose present. “Because he loves me.”

“Do you believe that love is what keeps him with you?”

Will slowly, uncertainly nodded, his eyes glassy, hopeful that Tonny was still capable of loving him. “Yes. Now, I don’t know if it’s love, or infatuation, or just his desire to not be alone … but it’s something. He feels something for me.”

Hannibal cradled his chin in his hand as he leaned against the table, studying Will’s dilating eyes. “Do you love him, Will?”

Despite knowing – or at least assuming – that this question was coming, Will still felt blindsided. He was still wracked with panic every time he or Tonny muttered any declaration of love. “I don’t know. I thought I did, but I’m –,” he took a deep breath to reassess his answer, “I’m not sure what it means anymore exactly –”

“You know what it means, I just don’t think you feel it. Do you want to continue a relationship with him?”

He paused at this inquiry – his mind, heart, and body all fighting against themselves with conflicting answers. When he finally decided on what words he wanted, his voice was quiet and subdued, unconvinced by his own response. “Yes. I do.”

“That was not a very strong declaration, Will. I’m not inclined to believe it.”

The server cleared their emptied plates and replaced them with their potage, a clear onion soup.

Will’s voice rose with his irritation, “Why do you even care, Hannibal? My relationship with Tonny has nothing to do with you. Didn’t you tell me you’re not invested in Tonny’s life?”

Leaning over his soup, Hannibal inhaled the savory-sweet aroma wafting from the steaming broth and picked up his spoon, pausing over his bowl. “I did say that and you’re right. But I  _ am _ invested in Aksel’s.” The spoon plunged in, and he gracefully sipped as he continued listening.

“Are you really? Are you really invested in Aksel’s life?”

“What do you think, Will?”

Will leaned back in his chair again, picking up his own spoon. “I think you don’t know what the fuck you’re saying. I think you selfishly say and do shit all the time that makes it obvious you don’t really care about him.” Though appearing calm and collected, the mention of his son had sent ripples of fury through him.

Hannibal carefully set down his spoon and pushed his bowl away, lacing his fingers in front of his chin as he focused intently on Will. “What makes you say that I don’t care about him?”

Will leaned over the table, his voice accusatory and firm.  _ “Butchering,” _ he enunciated sharply.

Hannibal snickered, glancing away and lowering his hands.

Will slumped back into his seat, provoked by Hannibal’s dismissal. “This isn’t funny, Hannibal. I’d appreciate you not talking to my son about butchering things.”

Hannibal chuckled. “Why, Will?”

“Isn’t it fucking obvious? Because it’s sinister and disturbing to have a five-year-old talking about butchering animals.”

“He grew up on your farm, Will. Didn’t he learn something about butchering then?” Hannibal was still snickering at the ridiculousness of this seemingly minor issue.

Will grit his teeth at the man’s outrageous ignorance to his own insensitivity. “He learned where his food came from, of course, but not the specific  _ details _ about butchering animals. He’s sensitive, Hannibal; he doesn’t need to hear about things like that. He came across my case files once, and it was traumatic and horrifying for him. I don’t want that shit in his head.” Will threw his napkin down on the table and crossed his arms, fuming with rage. “You so casually discuss butchering animals with him when his mother and his grandmother were butchered right next to him while he slept!” He aggressively leaned over the table again and continued his resentful litany, interrupting an attempt by Hannibal to defend himself, “If you don’t think he knows about that, you’re an ignorant pig. I don’t need him questioning me – asking me these godawful questions about cutting up human flesh. You want to know what he asked me last night, Hannibal? He asked me if I’m going to get butchered – because of something his father told him.” He leaned back again, disgusted. “And I don’t even know what the fuck Tonny said to him, because he ran away like a goddamn coward. But Aks is terrified now that someone’s coming after me – and he’s using the word  _ butcher _ , Hannibal, because of the shit you’re telling him.”

Hannibal sneered at Will, skeptical of his long-winded accusation. “I really think you’re overreacting to an imaginative child’s curiosity.”

“No, I’m not.” Repulsed by the man’s inept conclusion, Will continued, “It’s disturbing, and I’m horrified that this is affecting his mental health. I refuse to watch you and Tonny traumatize him with your careless disregard for his well-being.” He leaned over the table again, pointing furiously at Hannibal, enraged for his son. “It’s wrong! And I’m the only fucking one of us who gives a flying rat’s ass about what happens to him. I’m taking care of him, Hannibal – I’m taking him to doctors – I’m keeping a semblance of normalcy for him, and all you’re doing is fucking with his head!”

Will threw himself back, his eyes locked on Hannibal’s. He tried to calm down, but there was so much more to say. “And now he thinks Tonny’s going to kill me – Tonny! He thinks his father is going to come slaughter me. And now Aksel's grieving the loss of Tonny  _ again,  _ because he left in the middle of the fucking night without saying goodbye, and thanks to both of you, my child cries at night, terrified for my safety. You’re not dealing with that, Hannibal, and neither is Tonny. I am – I’m dealing with it – I’m dealing with the aftermath of Tonny’s selfish impulsiveness! I  _ want _ to think that Tonny cares about Aksel and that he cares about our relationship, but I  _ can’t _ think that. Why? Because I can’t fucking trust him! Aksel doesn’t trust him! No one trusts him!”

Will gathered his breath, shaking his head at the pile of inequitable blame that had been foisted solely on him, and no one else, in this whole tragedy. “In a moment of weakness I made a terrible mistake – a mistake I haven't even been allowed to apologize for, and now I’m the fucking bad guy that has no right to speak? That, Hannibal, is not fair.” Will crossed his arms, staring at the floor, fed up with feeling attacked and degraded. The constant barrage of blame and guilt imposed upon him had chipped away any ability he had to feel empathy for these two men. How could he continue being the responsible voice of reason in a household full of inconsiderate egotists?

Hannibal leaned on the table, allowing Will a moment to gather his own thoughts, and prompted, “If that is how you feel about him, Will, then why are you still with him?”

He shook his head, refusing to answer, and peered into his bowl. He had completely lost his appetite and the meal was just beginning. To speed along the arduous process, he force-fed himself his soup making sure to scowl at his disrespectful dinner companion with each frigid spoonful. The expectations he felt bearing down on him to maintain some sort of refined civility while in the restaurant were further provoking his already-simmering temper, especially having to now contend with Hannibal's flippant remarks.

Hannibal reclined in his chair with his wine glass, staring at Will’s clearly aggravated state as he continued to probe his reasoning for remaining with Tonny. “It's obvious you're far more intelligent than Tonny, so why do you put up with him?”

“I know I’m smarter than him, but intelligence has nothing to do with why I’d want to be with someone – or why I’m with him.”

Hannibal watched the server clear the table and smirked. “Clearly intelligence has no bearing on your selection of a mate. Despite his ignorance, selfishness, and insensitivity, I believe I’ve figured out  _ exactly _ why you chose him.”

Hannibal's blatant audacity provoked Will to snap, “Um, excuse me?!”

“ _ Œuf poche florentine _ ,” announced the server, interrupting Will’s defensive inquiry, as she placed two plates on the table.

Will leaned aggressively over the table again toward Hannibal. “What exactly is it you  _ think _ you know, Hannibal?” The server lingered at the table, forcing Will to quell his hostility toward Hannibal’s degrading and antagonistic tone for the moment. Hannibal claiming to understand anything concerning his attraction to Tonny disgusted Will to no end, though he was still a little baffled by this topic himself, so he had to admit that he may be slightly hypersensitive about the matter. The server quickly turned and fled the scene.

Hannibal, quite pleased with himself, picked up his fork and took a bite of his egg. “I know quite well why you’re with him, and why you choose to overlook his many flaws.”

Will scoffed, retreating back into his seat and picking up his knife. There was no possible way Hannibal knew anything about his decision to be with Tonny. Hannibal wasn’t privy to how or when they met, nor had he watched their relationship develop. He hated Tonny when he first met him, and had no idea how much relief and support they’d provided each other over the years. “You think it’s all physical attraction, don’t you?” Will shook his head at him, denying that his attraction could be, by any means, only physical.

Will’s eyes finally fell to the tiny poached egg in front of him. It was teetering atop a microscopic pile of cooked spinach, and he began wondering why everything had to be so small.  _ What bird did this come from – a pigeon? Why bother to make a damn dish if it’s only going to take ten seconds to eat? _ He poked the tiny egg with his fork, and two bites later it was gone. His attention returned to Hannibal’s smug face. “You think it’s all sex, and that’s ludicrous.”

“Not at all, actually – though I would be flattering myself if I did think your attraction was purely physical,” he said, bearing his teeth in a wide, cocky grin.

“You’re so clever, Hannibal,” he sneered. But Will was unable to continue his thought, as they were interrupted yet again by their poisson. A smoked fillet of perch on a bed of finely julienned vegetables replaced their now-eaten poached eggs. A piping of sweet mustard and crumbled hazelnuts edged the plate, surrounding the fish which Will eyed with delight. The prospect of losing himself in this piscatorial delight excited him, and he resolved then to ignore any and all commentary that might spew forth from the other side of the table as he ate.

He cut a small bite from his fillet and brought it to his mouth. The buttery perch melted over his tongue, and he was shocked at just how pleasurable it was. “This fish is delicious,” he noted, more to himself than to Hannibal. It had been months since he’d eaten this particular type of seafood. He missed the flavor of a clean freshwater fish almost as much as he missed landing one. He refused to speak while he ate. This was an indulgence that he would not allow Hannibal to mock or interrupt, so he only glared at the man who was smirking back at him. Hannibal studied his reactions carefully, but Will wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of anything other than a clean plate.

Will wiped his mouth and set down his fork, finished, and once again composed and calm. “Ok then, why do you think I’m with Tonny? Please – indulge me.” He took a sip of his wine before returning the glass to the table, so he could listen unencumbered, in case he needed to lunge over the table to strangle his dining partner.

“You enjoy manipulating your significant others,” said Hannibal flatly, inspecting Will’s narrowing eyes.

Will sat back in his chair, gritting his teeth and defensively shaking his head in disagreement. “And what’s this you’re on about now?”

“You – and the delight you take in maintaining control,” said Hannibal.

The server returned, and Will found himself becoming irritated again by the constant plate changes and interruptions. This was not the relaxing dinner out that he was expecting, where, in most cases, a server dropped off your food, never to be seen or heard from again.

“<span class="tooltip">Râble de lièvre rôti<span class="tooltiptext">Roasted saddle of rabbit</span></span>,” she explained, setting down another plate of food in front of Will. He stared at it. It was a meat – he was fairly certain – rolled and sliced, surrounded by a bright orange sauce. The meat smelled of sweet licorice, and made his mouth water despite the rage building within him, fueled by Hannibal’s accusations.

He took a deep breath to subdue his bitterness and cut himself a small bite. He inspected it, holding it in front of his his face. “And what am I putting in my mouth?” he asked, sneering at Hannibal.

“Rabbit. I hope you don’t mind. I had the option of  _ les coquilles Saint-Jacques _ as an entrée, but I opted for this instead. It is a tarragon-roasted saddle of rabbit, with a smoked bacon and pumpkin purée. The chutney is made of white and yellow onions from Auxonne. They have a nice summer market in Auxonne – if you’re still obligating my hospitality next year, we should visit.” He smirked, enjoying his own rabbit.

No longer pacified by a pleasantly familiar type of food, Will slipped the bite of rabbit into his mouth. As he chewed and swallowed he suddenly felt an irritation creeping back to his tongue. “Don’t change the subject, Hannibal. What were you saying about me manipulating people?”

“You won’t like what I have to say, Will, but if you insist.” Hannibal smiled at him, speaking only between his slow, methodical bites. “You can get Tonny to believe anything; he trusts you implicitly, unlike you of him. He’s never questioned a single decision you’ve ever made. You use your intelligence as a mechanism to control someone, who you feel is dimwitted and less respectable than yourself. You take pleasure in it because you feel you must control all aspects of your life – even your relationships.” Hannibal chewed another bite, watching Will become quite a fiery shade of red. “You have found your ideal partner because he is easily controllable, doesn’t hold you accountable for your actions, and has such a low opinion of himself that you’re certain he will never leave you.” He carefully cut and tasted his last few morsels of food, and looked up to now see a maroon-faced Will. “This is delicious,” he noted. “Eat, Will.”

Will's face contorted into a rage-filled, contemptuous glower. “Like fucking hell, you goddamn bastard!” He snarled loudly, ignoring the looks and stares from the other patrons. “You’re calling me emotionally abusive towards him! No – I don’t control him! You have no goddamn clue what the fuck you’re talking about! I’m not manipulative, and I’m not fucking abusive!” In his rage, Will threw himself back in his chair, kicking the helmet out from under the table. It flew across the floor, smacking their server in the shins before rolling off her shoes and teetering to a rest. Will gaped at it, horrified, and his gaze rose to meet her’s.

She carefully leaned over the helmet, attempting to maintain her grace and poise, and precariously placed two chilled glasses of sorbet on the table.  _ “Excusez-moi, monsieur,” _ she said, wincing at the pain under her breath.

Hannibal faintly scoffed at his childish outburst. “Will, you should probably calm down.”

“Sorry! Oh my god! Sorry!” He stood and turned, his hands raised, apologizing to the staff and the rest of the room for his sudden loss of composure.

Hannibal finished his rabbit and shook his head in disgust as he watched Will attempt to tuck the helmet back under the table, then scramble to his seat.

Will finally sat back down, now far more embarrassed than before. “And besides,” he continued, trying to pretend nothing had happened, “why would I have picked an addict for my ideal relationship? That isn’t even remotely logical. You can’t control an addict. Their addictions rule their behavior.”

Hannibal picked up and inspected his chilled glass containing a perfect sphere of white sorbet. He tasted it, mulling the fresh, crisp sweetness over his tongue as he stared at Will, making him wait for his response. “His addiction has become another tool for you. You don’t use it to control him but you continually keep him in a constant state of duress over it, shaming him by mentioning it at every opportunity and slowly degrading his self-respect.”

“I do not,” whispered Will through a clenched jaw, attempting to temper his rage. “That is  _ outrageous,  _ Hannibal.”

The two now sat in relative silence as Will tried to calm down. The remaining rabbit he had yet to eat was now gone – swept away by another waiter while he was retrieving his helmet – so he now looked down upon a tiny ball of melting sorbet served in a small snifter. He looked up at Hannibal with a disdainful sneer, deciding whether he should chuck whatever the hell this was at his arrogant face.

_ “Trou Normand,” _ he said, attempting to explain the dish.

“English, Hannibal. English!” snapped Will. This dinner was becoming a nightmare.

“Well, in English it would be  _ Norman hole,” _ he said with a chuckle. “Named for the Normans – it’s typically an apple brandy served mid-meal to aid digestion and restimulate the appetite.” Hannibal took another bite. “Traditionally, Calvados is served to drink, but this seems to be an apple sorbet doused in brandy.”

Will had lost his appetite entirely by this point, and was about to divulge this information when his agitated mind caught up to his ears. “Wait, what?  _ Mid _ -meal? How much longer is this going to take?!”

“Are you impatient to get home, Will? I was attempting to enjoy a nice dinner out.”

“Oh, I’m enjoying myself – though the conversation is drifting disconcertingly close to offensive.” He quickly consumed his sorbet, the mellow fruity ice only somewhat cooling his fiery disposition.

“Five more courses, Will. Then we can get you home and tucked into bed,” he said, rolling his eyes amusedly.

Will fumed at his dismissive expression. “Why did you bring me here if you were just going to be so antagonistic?”

“Why did you agree to come if you were going to be so sensitive?” Hannibal replied with a snicker.

“You’re accusing me of using Tonny. Don’t I have the right to be offended by that?”

“Is it not true, Will? I recall you having a difficult time in the beginning of your relationship dealing with the immense guilt you felt about using him.”

Will huffed through his drying mouth, his voice lowered, but his tone biting. “That’s  _ not _ why I felt guilty.” He sneered at Hannibal as his spine became rigid, sitting up in his chair. How dare he use confidential remarks he made as a patient as personal assaults upon him.  

“It’s a shame we didn’t record those sessions,” said Hannibal, glancing down at their recently served relevés, two roasted lamb chops with cauliflower gratin and baby artichokes. He licked his lips, eager to enjoy it, though Will was proving to be a rather irritating dinner companion.

Will grit his teeth. “I know what was said. I was guilty about his age. I remember because I still struggle with that. But I was more concerned by the fact that he was living in my home …" Will trailed off as he realized where that statement was heading. It was in his best interest not to continue.

“You called him vulnerable, scared, and abused, as I recall. You identified his vulnerability immediately. You struggled with it then, and yet you still proceeded to engage in a sexual relationship with him.” Hannibal set down his fork, his face now emotionless, though Will could detect a slight disconcerting clench to his jaw as he continued. “You needed physical comfort. You needed someone scared, or stupid enough, to not call the police when you would disappear. You needed someone to find you and bring you home after black-outs. You needed a warm body that didn’t ask questions and that felt honored that you would pay him even the slightest amount of attention.”

Will’s mouth fell agape as he recoiled in horrified repulsion. “No,” he said, sneering at the man, his voice thick and deep. “You’re implying that I coerced him, or that I exploited him for my own desires. That’s not true. You’re forgetting that he had a say in all this. He could have left if my needs were too much for him, but he didn’t – and besides, didn’t  _ you _ talk me into continuing our relationship?”

“Could he have left, though? In all honesty, Will, did Tonny have that option?” he asked, ignoring Will’s question entirely.

Will leaned back, crossing his arms. “Of course he could have. He wasn’t a prisoner.”

Hannibal sat up and leaned on the table, his eyes now piercing Will’s. “What about his son? Are you not, in a way, holding him hostage? You made yourself so friendly with the boy that Tonny was cornered, with no means of escape. The son makes a nice pawn, doesn’t he?”

Appalled and speechless, Will's nostrils flared as he leaned over the table. “That was completely uncalled for.” Forced to look away from Hannibal’s cold, dead gaze, he glared at the new plate that sat in front of him. Repulsed by the thought of food, he shoved the dish away. “You’re using a conversation I barely remember, and circular logic, to trap me. You want me to admit I had nefarious intentions with your  _ son.” _ He smirked and glared across the table into Hannibal’s black eyes.

Hannibal waved his hand, dismissing his assumptions with a snort of laughter. “Don’t you think Tonny felt just as trapped by you and your arguments? Don’t forget I had a session with him as well. I know how he truly feels about your relationship.”

Will's muscles relaxed as he shook his head. “I don’t believe you.” He leaned back in his chair with a huff of nervous amusement. “I don’t believe you coerced any information out of Tonny. He would  _ never _ have shared anything with you. You underestimate how much he fucking hates you.”

Hannibal’s attention returned to his plate, and he smiled. “You’d be surprised what I can get patients to admit to themselves.”

Will crossed his arms and squinted, watching Hannibal return to carefully dissecting his food. He appeared to be completely disengaged from the conversation. Will's body grew hotter with every ear-piercing scrape of Hannibal's knife against his plate. Tonny would never have shared anything with him – Will was certain of it.

“Eat, Will,” he said again, grinning. “If I wanted to spend two hours with you ogling me, we could have stayed at home in my bed.”

Will clenched his jaw, and his knuckles whitened under the table as he attempted to stifle a physical assault. “I’m not hungry, and there’s no need to be rude, Dr. Lecter.” He could barely speak for his bitterness. “You invited me here, and I agreed, despite my better judgment. The food is delicious – but the company leaves something to be desired.”

Hannibal sneered back with an amused chuckle. “You might consider holding your tongue, Will – or I’ll hold it for you.” He slowly sipped his wine, and they both resumed their impassioned glaring at one another.

Their server returned again, now to swap Will’s uneaten lamb with their buffet froid. Slices of roasted game – quail, duck, and grouse – were served cold on a square plate, each adorned with a corresponding autumnal fruit reduction. “Oh my god, more meat?” murmured Will through gritted teeth as he stared at his plate, his face twisted in a pained grimace.

Hannibal smiled at him and looked down at the presentation of fowl on his plate. “I know you enjoy fishing, Will. Ever try your hand at hunting?”

Will inhaled deeply and feigned a smile, attempting to assuage the next course of bitterness welling within him. “I have. Not  _ lately, _ obviously. But I’ve always been more of a fisherman.” Will picked at his poultry. “Let me guess – you hunt all the time?”

Hannibal chuckled. “Indeed. I’m always hunting.”

“Hunting for the next poor bastard for you to psychoanalyze, I’m sure.” Will forced himself to eat a forkful of grouse with blackberries, then dropped his fork on the table, pushing away his plate dismissively. “This is entirely too much food.”

Hannibal paused, peering at Will's rejected food. “You’ve never been one for happiness, have you Will?”

His color drained as Will’s teeth pulverized his minuscule bite. “What gave it away?” he said sharply.

Hannibal smiled. “A feeling.”

“Don’t, Hannibal.” Will warily imagined the barrage of shit the man was about to spew, as Hannibal critically focused his attention on Will’s behavior at the table. The pair hadn’t had a real doctor-patient session in months, and even the few they had attempted since Will’s arrival in France had been very informal. Since their physical relationship had begun, Will had been quite uncomfortable considering Hannibal his doctor, and the thought of him critically probing his mind when he’d already done such to his body was both disturbing and undesirable. He knew Hannibal monitored his habits while he slept. He knew that he watched him make his unconscious decisions. He knew he studied his interactions with Aksel. And Will knew the man was cataloging all his other idiosyncrasies now that they were living together. Avoiding Hannibal’s penetrating analysis was in his best interest – at least where his ego was concerned. “And besides, stress breeds unhappiness. And as I am always under copious amounts of stress – thanks to you and Tonny – I find it rather  _ difficult _ to be happy.”

Hannibal grinned as he ate. “Have you thought about seeing a psychiatrist?”

Will bit his lip to avoid spitting on him in some sort of brutish retaliation. “I’ve not had great luck with psychiatrists. Most are rather pompous. But I’m not here to talk about me. I am here to discuss Tonny.”

“I thought you were here to have dinner with me,” said Hannibal, cocking his head.

“In any case,  _ I  _ am not on the menu, Hannibal.”

“Not yet.”

“Good luck!” he suddenly snapped, his antagonism getting the best of him.

“Is that a challenge?” Hannibal smiled.

Will thought for a moment. Maybe he did want to hear what this pretentious browbeater had to say about his psyche. Then Will could bask in the glory of revealing how truly asinine he was. Hannibal had nothing on Tonny – he was blinded by his hatred for his own son – and he only ever made rash and sweeping generalizations about Will. Now he was just  _ trying _ to be irritating. Will straightened his back and puffed out his chest, cocking a grin, certain that nothing of value would surface from the impending analysis, so he backtracked, allowing Hannibal to gorge at will. “No, I changed my mind. It’s an invitation now.” He was goading this hungry shark. “You might as well finish what you started anyway. Have at it!”

A nervous waiter swooped in and cleared their plates as their server approached with a cart – a chariot de fromage. She was about to explain the various options for their cheese course when Hannibal interrupted.

_ “Veuillez sélectionner pour nous,” _ he ordered, waving his hand for her to leave. She apologized and rolled the cart away.

“And what was that?” asked Will, gesturing with his wine glass towards the retreating cart. A cocky sneer still lingered across his face. "Suddenly lose your appetite, Hannibal?"

Hannibal chuckled and tilted his head, peering down his nose at Will. “Not at all, Will. In fact, quite the opposite. I'm still rather hungry – but not for  _ fromage _ ."

"Oh? For what then?"

"I'm actually quite ravenous to pick over  _ your _ bones, Will. So, I want to be clear – Will  _ is _ back on the menu, correct?”

“Why not, Hannibal? Go ahead – feast.”

The server returned and set a communal plate of cheeses, which she had been instructed to select herself, in the middle of the table.

Hannibal chuckled and selected a few cheeses for himself as his eyes focused intently, and hungrily, on Will. “How about we feast on both you and Tonny, shall we?”

“Two birds,” said Will, accepting his own plate of cheese from Hannibal.

“And one heavy, blunt stone to your heads,” he replied, completing Will’s idiom.

Will winced, viscerally imagining Tonny’s skull-cracking accident from so many years ago.

“So, you obviously drink around Tonny,” began Hannibal.

Will scoffed. “So? I’m not the one with a drinking problem.”

“Do you smoke around him?”

“Of course, but that’s irrelevant,” snapped Will, taking a bite of brie.

“Do you not think that continuing to flaunt addictive behavior around an addict is highly inconsiderate? You tempt him, and when he falters, you shock him like a rat in a maze.”

Will glared at him, skeptical and certainly unamused, but still scrutinizing Hannibal’s simile. He did often expect Tonny to ignore his own indulgences, but he’d never thought of it as flaunting or inconsiderate to indulge himself. However, to avoid giving Hannibal fodder, he remained silent, though he was suddenly and inexplicably no longer in the mood for cheese.

Hannibal picked up his wine glass and drank before continuing, “A rat in a maze is interesting. But a rat out of a maze is much more fascinating, Will. Especially if they’ve already been coerced to think a certain way. I suggest that you let Tonny out and observe what he does.”

Will sat back, incredulously staring at Hannibal. “You want me to observe and ...  _ manipulate _ Tonny … like he’s a goddamned experiment?”

“You practically already are. And after all, every relationship endures a certain degree of manipulation. Guilt and obligation are used to control. Fear and shame are used to change behavior. We are all guilty of manipulation, Will. You have been afforded enough intelligence to change Tonny – for the better, if that is your wish. I suggest you observe his behavior when he returns – and he will return. Then decipher his needs, and use that knowledge to stimulate change.” Hannibal set down his wine glass and watched Will’s face closely.

“You mean  _ trick _ him. You want me to trick Tonny into doing whatever I want,” said Will, straightening his back and skeptically staring at Hannibal.

“No, not necessarily. No one  _ tricks _ the rat – one encourages or punishes its behavior. Your current approach towards your psychological punishment of Tonny has been very ineffective, and you’re beginning to irreparably damage him.”

“My current approach, Hannibal? And what’s that exactly?”

“Humiliation, Will. He has endured that his entire life, so it is no longer effective. You must change tactics, or he will inevitably kill himself, one way or another.”

Will felt his rage building again. Hannibal did not know about Tonny’s suicide attempt, and though he didn’t feel responsible for Tonny’s self-esteem or his happiness, he was beginning to feel quite defensive about his possible role in Tonny’s attempt to end his life in prison. “I don’t use shame or humiliation to punish him. That’s absurd.”

“But you do shame him, correct? You treat him like a child. Order him around. And you throw his addiction in his face at every opportunity. You blame him for everything, Will. Even your own problems. But what I find more interesting than your psychological manipulation of him is your physical control over him,” said Hannibal, looking intrigued.

Will sneered. “Do tell, Hannibal, how do I physically control someone twice my size, with – admittedly – a history of violence, who is currently running amok a thousand miles away?”

Servers were now busying themselves resetting the table, but Hannibal continued despite the extra ears. “You hide behind your unfounded masculinity crisis as a way to deny him his sexual desires, and you treat his physical affection as embarrassing, which is quite callous, Will.” He leaned back to allow the wide-eyed waiters room to clear his plates.

Will’s face grew red, and he practically growled as another small plate was set in front of each of them, on it a single bacon wrapped date –  _ Diable à cheval,  _ devils on horseback. Will stared at it, grinding his teeth as his whole body stiffened and he silently waited for the staff to leave the table.

“You are a disgrace to your field,” he fumed to calm himself as he aggressively leaned over the table. “I do  _ not _ control Tonny by withholding sex. Nor am I in some sort of crisis. He respects my personal requests, which are – in fact – my own personal choices. I am allowed to have a say in what happens to my body. What Tonny and I have, Hannibal, is a respectful physical relationship. I’m not denying him anything. And how the hell would you know anything about this?”

“You’re getting very defensive, Will.” Hannibal popped the savoureux in his mouth, watching as his wine glass was refilled. He looked back up at Will. “Do you want me to continue, or are you getting too emotional?”

_ Goddamn cocksucking, condescending son of a bitch!  _ Will’s mind was imploding with resentment. He took a moment to breathe, popping the  _ Diable à cheval  _ in his mouth. A satisfying crunch from the bacon resounded through his jaw. He ground and gnashed his teeth, pulverizing the miniscule bite. The bacon fat and hot cloying flesh of the date, congealed with his saliva, frothing in his mouth. “No.” He paused to swallow the sickeningly sweet ball of rage caught in his throat. “Please – go on, Hannibal.” He might as well see this to the bloody end, despite his failing patience.

“In the five years you’ve known him, you’ve not had the physical relationship he has desired despite his constant attempts to convince you otherwise. Do you not find that particularly cruel on your part – or even moreso unusually odd for someone like Tonny?”

“Odd? Why odd?” Will was consciously trying not to be so defensive and mentally avoiding his own thoughts about Tonny’s potential for promiscuity. He’d always wondered why Tonny continued to put up with his never-ending sexual rejection.

“That in five years of denying him what he physically desires from you, despite you taking exactly what you want from him – that he should still be in your control. That is odd, is it not? He has not wavered, or left, or sought others – unlike you.”

Will inhaled a sharp hiss.

Hannibal smiled, but continued. “A relationship in which one party has an innumerable number of needs go unfulfilled typically ends in separation – yet you have kept him. Your command of him in this regard is incredible. Although I imagine that you’ve lost that authority now that he considers you unfaithful to him.”

Will paused, deliberating over what it was that Hannibal was suggesting. He imagined his own role in Tonny having to give up his home, his freedom, options, language, dignity – and on top of that his sexual desires and his addictions. Will was, possibly, asking a lot of Tonny, especially considering that he was also expected to deal with Will’s own mental issues and insecurities. He ruminated on this carefully, and considered his own position in their relationship. He, himself, was the breadwinner – the responsible one, the more appropriate father figure to Aksel – was he emasculating Tonny? He scoffed at the thought, but was left wondering. Now he had a dilemma put upon him – what was he supposed to do now that Tonny felt betrayed? If this was all true – which he wasn’t inclined to believe – and he had lost some sort of control over their relationship, how was he supposed to get it back? Will felt as though he had no control over anything in his life right now, and the last thing he wanted was to forfeit more. He was not particularly excited to ask Hannibal for suggestions, but he did it all the same.

“And what would you suggest I do?” he asked meekly, feeling embarrassed but attempting to maintain at least a shred of dignity.

Hannibal bared his teeth in a shark-like grin. “Work with him psychologically, Will. You have already directly humiliated him far beyond what he is capable of enduring, yet I don’t think Tonny can leave you – not with the fabricated bonds you’ve managed to create. He feels indebted to you, even if he doesn’t understand why, but he will want to control your relationship now that he believes he has the upper hand. Tonny will return, and he will seek dominance. And you will have to let him believe that he has it.”

Will stared at him, imagining what Hannibal could be implying. Was he suggesting that Will intentionally deceive Tonny, to make him feel more in control than he was? Would Tonny regain faith in their relationship if he thought Will, stricken with guilt, would submit to him? The man had never tasted power or dominance, so a little could go a very very long way. Tonny had fought his entire life for respect, and in the world in which he grew up, power always equated with respect. “This sounds ... painful, and quite malicious, Hannibal.”

Hannibal smiled. “It is – or at least it will be – but I guarantee, when you are successful, you will see it is highly effective. You will regain your much-needed control, and you will have the groundwork in place to compel him to do whatever you wish.”

Will shook his head, disconcerted. “If I didn’t respect you so much, I think I’d be afraid of you right now,” he said, sipping the coffee that now sat in front of him.

“You are welcome to feel both, Will. Respect and fear are not mutually exclusive.” Hannibal sipped from his own cup. “Respect and contempt, however, are. Best to walk that line carefully.”

Will huffed, but ruminated on Hannibal’s cryptic words as he envisioned this new plan forming in his mind – a plan to convince, but not coerce, Tonny. Perhaps he’d maneuver his thoughts – but certainly not  _ manipulate _ . Maybe he’d test him somehow … not trick him. Whatever verbiage Will felt comfortable with, he settled on, convinced that he could give both Tonny and himself the relationship they both wanted, though he wasn’t particularly excited about the physical tactics he may be forced to utilize. However, having a plan of action relaxed his overextended mind somewhat. As his teeth and fists slowly unclenched, the built-up pains of the evening subsiding into a dull ache, a wave of exhaustion flowed through his body and he was suddenly too tired to continue. “I think I’m ready to leave,” he announced to Hannibal.

“But we haven’t had dessert,” Hannibal protested with a coy smile.

“Fuck dessert.”

Hannibal snickered, pulling his helmet out from under the table. “Maybe I will,” he teased.

Will sneered, furrowing his brows in disgust. “I’m  _ off _ the menu, Hannibal,” he said, and Hannibal, still chuckling, motioned for the check.


	41. With his Brothers of Theft

Since his hasty and thoughtless escape a week prior, Tonny had filled his days in Kurt’s filthy little apartment with an inordinate amount of cocaine and an ungodly amount of daytime television. While boring, and not at all what he was expecting of his pilgrimage to Copenhagen, at least he wasn’t being forced to face the betraying and conniving assholes he left behind – though he had to admit, he was beginning to miss his son.

This day, however, Tonny had someone to visit. Despite Kurt’s warning about Ø’s new and somewhat unlikable personality, Tonny had mustered the nerve to text Ø and invite himself over to his old apartment. He bounded up the apartment building's steps, just as he had done so many times before when he used to live in Denmark, unsure why he even felt compelled to see Ø. They had nothing in common other than their life-long friendship. And while they _had_ grown up together, Ø seemed to always have his life together, very unlike Tonny. But Ø had consistently looked out for him when he was a kid, so the least he could do was say _hi_ after five years of nothing.

Tonny’s eyes darted between Ø’s cell number, now logged in Will’s phone, and the apartment door. He was debating whether to knock or not. Did he even want to go in? Was he allowed to interrupt Ø’s life here? Tonny stared down at his dirty clothes, fingering the bottom edge of his hoodie. He looked and felt just as disheveled and short-sighted at he had the day he fled. He appeared completely unchanged despite his five years abroad, and he briefly wondered how that could even be possible. _No,_ he thought. _I’m different now. I’m not the same person I was._

Tonny hesitated, his hand hovering at the door. It felt surreal, rapping on Ø’s apartment door, like he was in a dream, or a half-forgotten memory of this place. He’d never needed to knock on this door before; it used to be his home. Rather than knocking and potentially disturbing whoever else might be inside, Tonny decided to text Ø instead; it felt less confrontational. He immediately heard rustling and footsteps within the apartment before the door swung open, Ø standing there staring at him, his face weary and disconcertingly overwrought. Tonny, shocked to see him so pale and uneasy, furrowed his brows, curiously wondering what had happened in his life over the last five years. Ø’s eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks ruddy, his dirty-blond hair unwashed and unkempt. He looked tired and strung-out, like a recent divorcée or an overworked, underpaid businessman.

“Hey Tonny,” he said with a exasperated sigh.

“Hey.” Tonny attempted a smile, lifting off his sunglasses to hang them on the neck of his hoodie. Ø stared at him for a few more seconds, scrutinizing Tonny’s unaltered appearance, his eyes lingering momentarily on the only difference he noted – Tonny’s bedraggled brown hair. He slowly stepped back and motioned for Tonny to enter the apartment.

Ø turned and trudged towards the kitchen. “Gry’s not here, thankfully,” he quickly announced over his shoulder.

“Um, ok.” Why would it matter that the man’s wife wasn’t there? It wasn’t like he and Gry weren’t on speaking terms – or so he thought. They hadn’t spoken since just moments before Tonny had made his fateful decision to drop everything, grab his sleeping son, hop on a bus and flee. His face scrunched up in a wince, remembering her biting animosity towards him that night over his physical assault towards Charlotte at the wedding. He swallowed back that acrid memory as he peered down at his hands still holding Will’s phone. Those hands had tried to strangle Charlotte in a drunken coked-up rage over his son. Those hands had been washed of his father’s blood in that very apartment. Those hands had cradled his child as he ran from that doorway in a panic. His desire to enter suddenly wavered as he deliberated between crossing the threshold or bolting back down the steps.

“Hey! Get in here and close the fucking door!” ordered Ø, leaning out of the kitchen. He scoffed over Tonny’s hesitation in the hallway.

An apprehensive foreboding began burning through Tonny’s gut as he sensed Ø’s building anxiety over him darkening his doorstep. He pushed it aside and stepped in, carefully avoiding the household detritus littering the hallway; documents, unopened mail, receipts, and cleaning supplies had been strewn across the floor.

He eventually joined Ø in the messy kitchen and they stood in uncomfortable silence, Tonny’s eyes wandering the walls and counters, relishing their familiarity despite Ø’s restless demeanor. Tonny’s brow remained furrowed, and his fingers endlessly scratched across his thigh. Uncertainty over the unbroken awkward silence crept across Tonny’s skin, and he scratched his neck in an attempt to relieve it. He had no idea what he was supposed to say or what he was even doing here.

A wave of nostalgia washed over him as his eyes happened to glance out into the living room. It prompted him to slowly lean out the kitchen doorway and peer at the long black couch lining the wall. He almost barged in and flopped back on it, kicking up his feet on the glass coffee table, but refrained since Ø seemed so uncharacteristically tense. The apartment still basically looked the same to Tonny, though there did appear to be a lot of boxes stacked against the walls. At last, Ø offered him a beer, which he graciously accepted. Maybe everything _was_ normal and the tension he was feeling came from the years they’d spent apart? At any rate, a beer would at least lessen inhibitions, loosen tongues, and just maybe they could pick up where they left off.

“Wanna sit?” asked Ø. His voice was sharp, even slightly annoyed. Tonny shifted nervously, fearing that his intrusion was somehow more than just inconvenient for him. When Tonny eventually nodded his reply, they sat down across from each other at the small wooden kitchen table, still engulfed in their silence.

Tonny continued glancing up at Ø’s blank expression, trying to get a read on the situation. He looked grief-stricken and beyond exhausted. Though Tonny was no stranger to uncomfortable silences, this one was quickly becoming agonizing. Ø was his last remaining connection to this world, and he found himself wondering how that connection seemed to have been broken since their last contact several years ago. Both Tonny’s parents were now dead and his friends were gone; without Ø, he was essentially alone here. His knee bounced as he attempted to break the ice forming between them. “So, you gotta kid now?” he asked with a smile. Gry had been pregnant at the wedding, so the kid would be a year younger than Aksel now. He looked around the apartment; it wasn’t particularly kid-friendly.

“No,” he said, staring at Tonny, his eyes lifeless and bitter. “She lost it. Twice now.”

Unsure what to say to news like that, Tonny chewed his tongue and nervously averted his eyes to his hands on the table.

“Listen, Tonny,” began Ø, sitting back in his chair and scratching his head. “I’m not so sure it’s a good idea for you to be hanging around here.”

Tonny scoffed, the rejection palpable, and downed his beer to calm his nerves. “I just got here, Ø. I haven’t hung around _here_ in five fucking years. What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Ø’s lip curled and he lunged across the table to grab Tonny’s shirt, yanking him to his face. “Don’t you cop an attitude with me, you fucker!” he spit and shoved Tonny away, throwing him back into his chair. Returning to his seat with a huff, Ø crossed his arms and glared at him. Tonny, wide-eyed from the outburst, carefully slid his chair away from the table, sniffing and cautiously avoiding Ø’s penetrating eyes. After a staggering breath, Ø continued, “I don’t know what happened with your dad, and frankly Tonny, if I had it _my_ way you’d fucking hang for that shit, but you were released ...” He trailed off with an irritated growl. “And I owe it to Char to not fuckin’ kill you right now, because that little boy needs a fucking parent. But goddamnit, Tonny, the Duke was like a fucking father to me …” He struggled through his words, his voice wavering as he shook his head in repulsion. He didn’t want to look at Tonny, much less speak to him.

Apologetically staring into Ø’s hopeless eyes, Tonny fully expected to be attacked and beaten senseless at any moment. He slowly nodded, beginning to understand now how losing the Duke was probably one of the worst things to happen to his friend. Ø wasn’t Tonny’s brother by blood, but the Duke had always treated Ø with the love and respect he never gave his own son.

Ø’s face twisted into a bitter sneer. “I had a family. I had a fucking family, Tonny! I had a fucking future with him!” He shoved the table into Tonny’s gut and sat back, gritting his teeth. Tonny caught the table and stared at the broken man who now hung his head, clutching his face in his hands. Ø paused to collect his arguments. “It’s Gry, Tonny. She wants nothing to do with you – and I can’t fucking blame her.” He rubbed his face and looked back up at Tonny, emotionless and tired. “I’m already on thin ice with her. She’s wanted to leave me for a year. She fucking hates me. She thinks I’m why we keep losing kids, and my job’s shit now because of you!” Despite his burning desire to vent his frustration on Tonny in a violent barrage of fists, Ø had no stamina left to physically assault him. He opted instead to get off his chest what he’d been dying to say to Tonny since he ran away like a coward.

Tonny listened to the tirade, his breath choppy and pained, finally realizing the boxes around the apartment were filled with Gry’s things, all packed up, ready to move – ready to leave her husband behind.  

“And this fucking shit with Charlotte,” continued Ø. His eyes were black with a deep-seated revulsion. “What the fuck is going on with you?”

Much was going on with Tonny, but none of it had to do with Charlotte. He shook his head, confused by the question. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Charlotte, Tonny! What the fuck happened!?” he yelled, standing up. “Char’s fucking neighbor calls us one day, says the cops are in her apartment, and that she’s fucking dead and Svend’s just gone!”

“I have no fucking idea, man.” Tonny raised his hands, nervously sitting up and eyed Ø as he now paced the kitchen like a rabid animal. “The first I heard about any of that shit was when my lawyer called me, but I was still locked up; I had nothing to do with it –”

Ø rushed over and slammed his fist against the table. “Shut the fuck up! No one believes your fucking shit!”

Tonny flinched at the noise and shut up. His back stiffened and he rubbed his thighs methodically, still anxiously avoiding eye contact.

Ø slowly rose from the table again, still staring at Tonny’s averted eyes. He needed answers, and he wouldn’t get them like this, so he took a ragged breath in an attempt to calm his rage. “You had nothing to do with it? … Well, stop me when I get to a part that’s _not_ fucked up, Tonny – you’re saying you kidnap Svend and keep him for _four fucking years_ on your own, then you get arrested, and Svend gets to have _three_ _months_ with his mother before some crazy faggot shows up saying he knows _you_ and threatens Char, tryin’ to see the kid.” Ø shook his head in total disbelief that he was even recounting this whole damn thing to Tonny. “Then three more months later, she and her mom are found fucking _dead?_ And-And Svend ends up going to some fucking creepy old man no one’s even heard of?! None of that seems fucking _weird_ to you?!”

Tonny furrowed his brow, confused and agitated by Ø’s aggression and his story. The court had determined Aksel’s custody without any input from him, so he was just as confused as Ø. Will had simply called him one day and claimed he had Aksel – he’d had no reason to question that news, all he knew or felt then was relief that Will had him again. Ø’s story _seemed_ logical to with what Tonny had been told, except the part concerning Will. There was no way he threatened anyone. But his coke-addled mind could only focus on one simple fact, one tiny little detail and  that was that he did _not_ appreciate Ø referring to Aksel as _Svend_. He wholeheartedly resented it, in fact. “Aksel,” he corrected. “I named him _Aksel.”_

“I’m calling him _Svend_ because that’s his fucking name, Tonny. It’s the name on his goddamn birth certificate. And where the hell is he right now, anyway?!” He glanced around the room as though looking for the child. “Shouldn’t he be with _you?!”_

Tonny huffed and squinted his eyes, glaring at Ø. He had left his son in the care of someone else, but that was no one’s business. As Ø grew more outraged by his lack of a response, Tonny felt compelled to placate his antagonism in some way. He held up his hand and began to argue his side. “Look, I have no idea what the fuck happened. And I’m serious, Ø, I had nothing to do with any it – not with Char, the custody shit, or anything. And Aksel’s with Will right now. He’s fine; he’s safe.”

“Yeah, that’s it. The fucker who came to Charlotte’s place and threatened her and her mom – Will Graham, right? That’s what Char said his name was. She said her lawyer said you’ve been _working_ for that asshole? Why the fuck does he have your kid?!”

Tonny gritted his teeth, suppressing his desire to defend his family against Ø's demeaning insults. What minuscule amount of civility Tonny still had was waning. “Will would never fuckin’ threaten anyone. And when he went to see Char, he was upset. He just wanted to see Aks,” he insisted, keeping his voice as steady as he could.

“But why the hell does he have him _now,_ Tonny?! Char said he wasn’t allowed to have him!”

Tonny leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. His blood was boiling at the thought of having to admit anything to Ø in his aggravated state. He didn’t want this to end in blows but it was seeming inevitable. His mind was rapidly sifting through potential scenarios that would make logical sense to Ø without him formally admitting anything.

Ø started at him shaking his head, “Well?! What the hell, Tonny? Fucking answer me!”

Even if he hadn’t been high on cocaine, Tonny still wouldn’t have come up with a rational explanation so he confessed, “‘Cause he’s _his_ goddamn son too!”

Ø shook his head. _“His_ son? Are you fucking kidding me, Tonny? – oh my god.” Ø’s mouth fell agape more at the confession than the realization. “Oh my fucking god.” He covered his mouth and turned away to lean against the counter.

Tonny watched the tension build in Ø’s shoulders, as he, himself grew tense. He glanced to the doorway, debating his options.

Ø turned around, shocked and disgusted by Tonny's admission. “So you’re a goddamn fag now? Jesus fucking christ!” He paced around the kitchen, shaking his head. “We all knew about Frank, Tonny, but you were just kids then! _This_ is fucking ridiculous!”

Tonny’s chin dropped to his chest and he stared at the floor, focused on swallowing back a sob that caught in his throat. He painstakingly cracked each knuckle in his stiff fingers, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. He was a caged animal and desperately needed to get the hell out of there. Self-deprecating banter with Kurt was one thing, but to be humiliated and feel Ø’s disappointment in him was another. He’d been attacked and he didn’t know how to escape. He glanced back up at Ø, chewing his thumbnail. “What the fuck does that shit even matter? And Charlotte’s dead. She was a terrible goddamn mother anyway.”

Ø whipped around, sneering at Tonny’s brazenly ignorant comment. “And how the hell would you know that, Tonny?”

“She was a coked-up whore, and she didn’t even go after him for six fucking months, Ø!” he snapped. His voice quivered, hesitating with uncertainty.

“I know! Her goddamn lawyer told her get clean first so she’d have a better shot at getting full fucking custody from you, you dipshit!” Ø stared at the ceiling, disbelieving that Tonny could be so goddamn stupid. His blank, defeated eyes fell back to Tonny. “She cleaned up and then went after you, but nobody thought you’d leave Denmark, you asshole! We had no fucking idea where the hell you were until a year ago!”

Tonny’s mouth fell open. “Wait, Char … Charlotte got clean?” His voice was barely a whisper as he stared skeptically at Ø, hoping it was all a lie.

“She’s been clean for years, Tonny, just waitin’ to get her boy back.” Ø studied Tonny’s blood-shot eyes and fidgeting knee and he shook his head. “You fucker. You stole that kid from her, and you’re still a fucking cokehead – oh my god.” He turned to lean on the counter, restraining himself from attacking the selfish asshole who ruined – and may have ended – Charlotte’s life.

Tonny leaned on the table, covering his mouth with his hand, staring at Ø’s tense back again. Unable to hear or speak, his mind struggled to accept that Charlotte had gotten clean – and stayed clean – something Tonny had never been able to do. He’d just spent all morning in Kurt’s apartment getting high while someone else was taking care of his son ... His gut twisted into knots as he imagined Charlotte looking for him – searching for the little boy he’d taken from her. He took a deep breath, grasping for straws. “But I did my time for taking Aksel. I have no idea what happened to Charlotte, though. It was just a goddamn coincidence, Ø – you have to believe me,” he countered, growing more and more terrified of how this conversation might end.

Ø turned to face him with a sneer. “A _coincidence._ Yeah, you’ve got a lot of those following you, don’t you? You’re one lucky fucking bastard aren’t you?” Ø scoffed at Tonny before ripping open a kitchen drawer, searching for a lighter to light his cigarette. “What I don’t need in my life is asshole thugs kicking in my door, scaring the shit outta my wife looking for _you._ I don’t need your _good luck_ screwing with my fucking life!” He slammed the drawer closed and took a deep, calming drag off his now-lit cigarette.

“Good luck?! What the fuck are you talking about!?”

“You’re a goddamn idiot, Tonny. You think you can just make shit better – clear your fucking name – by killing more people? That shit’s gonna catch up to you, and I hope to god it does.”

“I didn’t kill anyone, Ø! How the fuck could I?!”

“No one believes your shit. You can pretend to be innocent in all this, but when you start messing with guys like Radić … you’re a fucking lunatic – and I want nothing to do with you. They can fucking have you.”

Sweat beaded on Tonny’s forehead and he violently shook his head. “Ø, what the hell are you talking about? Who the fuck is that?!”

“Are you out of your fucking mind? How do you not know who he is?”

Tonny’s voice suddenly began to shake, halting and stuttering over words. “I’ve never heard that name in my life, Ø.”

“Fuck, do you even _have_ a lawyer, Tonny? For fuck’s sake! He was going to put you away for killing your dad, you shithead. Radić – Aleksandar Radić. How the fuck do I know more about your goddamn case than you do?!” Ø rubbed his face, exasperated by Tonny’s constant ignorance; the man was just as much a dumbass now as he was five years ago. “His father’s on a fucking rampage looking for you now. Whatever you’re messed up in needs to stay far as fuck away from me and Gry. I’m dealing with way too much shit right now. I don’t need people in my face grilling me about where you are!”

Tonny’s gaze clouded, his mind still confused, and now panicked and terrified. “Who the fuck is Aleksandar Radić?”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Tonny? You worked with Frank – you know who the fuck Milo is – how can you not remember Radovan? Aleksandar was his goddamn son. Are you a fucking moron?!”

An unmistakable chill suddenly rushed up Tonny’s spine, remembering the tall, menacing extortionist that never left Milo’s side. “Radovan? What the fuck’s going on?!” He raised his hand and quickly stood. “I had nothing to do with any of this shit!”

Ø shook his head at Tonny’s panic – like this was all news to him. “Why are you even in Denmark, you fucker? You have every fucking Serb looking for you, and you just waltz on in here like you own the goddamn place.”

Tonny stood still, his mind a heaving quarrel between dread and terror. He was now beginning to question whether coming back to Denmark was such a good idea. “I think I need to go,” he said, violently shaking as he stepped back into the kitchen doorway.

“That’s probably the only smart thing you’ve ever fuckin’ said, Tonny.” Ø scoffed and grabbed Tonny’s arm as he dragged him to the hall and pushed him towards the door.

Tonny hesitated, his hand recoiling from the doorknob instinctively. The streets of Copenhagen suddenly felt very hostile to him, and the world out there – the world he thought he was retreating back to after so many years – was not what he assumed it would be. His gut in knots and barely able to breathe, let alone think, his mind raced with all the thugs that could be waiting for him downstairs. His head felt like it was cracking open with pain, and his heart pounded so furiously he thought he might drop dead right there just inside Ø’s door. Charlotte hadn’t been the coked-up whore he remembered. Ø and Gry’s happy family didn’t exist and they were splitting up. Frank was gone, and Kurt was the same piece of shit he always had been. And _someone_ was after him, and he had no clue what they’d do to him if they found him. If this was the life he had run from, why the fuck did he ever come back? And now that he _was_ back, what now? Should he buy a gun? Find some shitty place to hide? Leave town again?

Suddenly, memories of his last escape from Copenhagen flashed through his mind – his son in his arms, panicked, lost and confused with no one to help him, his only thought being to run. He shook off the bad memories, trying to regain his composure and prepare himself to face the unknowns that lay outside Ø’s door. He reached for the doorknob again, unsure what he would do next, but knowing that it couldn’t be like the last time. The doorknob clicked as it unlatched, his dizzy mind barely understanding why it was turning at all, triggering another visceral memory of police standing outside his door waiting to rip him away from his family. Tonny blinked hard, pushing the fear and images as far back in his pounding mind as he could, and pulled the door open.

Ø grabbed his shoulder to stop him. “Wait. I have a box of shit for you to take.” Ø pushed the door closed and left him momentarily to retrieve a cardboard box from a hall closet before returning with it. “It’s shit from when Svend was really little, and pictures of Charlotte and her family. Be a decent fucking human for once in your goddamn life and give it to him.” He shoved the box into Tonny’s hands and stepped back, visibly distressed, staring at the last shred of proof that he had ever even known Aksel. He sniffed his nose and collected his voice as he finally looked up to Tonny’s eyes. “Please, Tonny – give it to him. We only had him for six months, but we loved him, too.”

Tonny clutched the box to his chest, in part to help steady his shaking hands and regain some composure. Shifting it under one arm, he opened the door and stepped into the hall, turning to look back at the broken and distraught man staring back at him.

“You aren’t welcome here anymore, Tonny. Go home.” Ø clenched his teeth and turned away, shutting the door in Tonny’s face.


	42. Envy, Pride, and Avariciousness

Tonny glanced over his shoulder, scanning the busy street behind him as he headed back towards Kurt’s apartment. His eyes nervously darted between happy families trailing down the sidewalk, unfamiliar men who he swore were following him, and a few vehicles that seemed to be traveling at unusually slow speeds. He sucked on his cigarette and hunched his shoulders, pulling up his hood to hide his face from this now inhospitable world.

It was disheartening to feel any relief when he finally saw Hannibal’s car at the curb, and he grumbled under his breath. He wanted to be _there_ – on that street – with his old life again, not trapped in an inescapable prison, with the knowledge that someone was searching for him with malicious intent; nor did he want to be in France at the whims of an arrogant psychiatrist and a mental cop. He wanted to stay _there_ – but _there_ didn’t want him anymore, in fact, _there_ was now a hostile place. He grit his teeth, shaking his head to clear his pounding pulse from his ears.

He wrenched open the back door of the car and dropped in the box Ø had shoved in his arms. It hit the seat with a clinking rattle, picture frames jostling against trinkets and books. He stared at the box, ashing his cigarette onto the backseat as he wondered what kind of person Charlotte had become after he left. Would she have been a good mother? How much better off would Aksel have been if he’d never taken him from her?

Tonny’s mind painfully slipped back through the last five years of watching Aksel grow up without a mother. An involuntary shiver tremored through his body as he remembered frigid nights, clutching Aksel against his chest to shield him from the bitter cold as he ran up to Jack’s perpetually-lit doorway. Tonny’s hands unintentionally twitched against his leg as he recalled strumming his fingers along his toddler’s back while he waited for Bella to answer his unexpected knock and take the child from his trembling hands. The door would rush open and she’d painfully gaze at him, her sad smile burning a hole in his aching heart. But she always welcomed the cold and crying boy into her doting arms, and Tonny would wait, standing on the stoop, watching his son be passed to Jack, who smilingly retreated with the boy into their warm and attentive home. Tonny would pause in the doorway, awaiting the meager and pathetic ritual that had begun the first night he had called Jack in a panic, needing a place to leave his son; Bella would reach out to him and gently stroke her palm across his sunken cheek, woefully releasing this child from his obligation as a father. Then stumbling back, without fail Tonny would be unable to tear his gaze from the closing door of that loving home, and he’d reluctantly return to the cold truck before racing back to the near-empty farmhouse to keep his nightly vigil over Will, who lie frozen, ravaged by depression, in his bed. Weeks of this turned to months, and his shame slowly faded as Bella’s sad smile grew to an excited grin each time he arrived in the night. But he never left those concrete steps without feeling her warm and gentle palm on his cheek. It was his only source of strength that winter, and it helped him through countless nights, balled up on the floor cradling Will as he wept.

Tonny brushed his hand down his mouth and chin, suppressing a soreness developing in his heart. He slammed the door closed and crossed his arms over the roof of the car, leaning his chest against the window, suddenly overcome with fatigue. He rested his forehead against his crossed arms and groaned out his anguish. It was often difficult for Tonny to imagine the consequences of his many rash decisions. He’d always lived in the moment, unbothered by the harsh realities of his potentially devastating choices. Impulsiveness was easy; it required little to no thinking on his part. After living with decades of bad decisions, dealing with the results was almost routine: you fuck something up, you pay the required price, and you move on – it was simple. Why was it not that simple anymore? The last time it had been that simple, he was _there,_ on that street, living the life he wanted.

He stood up, his mind clearing as he ignored the ache in his chest. He rolled his shoulders and replaced his spent cigarette with a fresh new smoke, lighting it. He flopped down his hood, a new resolve filling him, and bounded down the sidewalk towards Kurt’s apartment.  

He slowed to a stop in front of the door and flicked his cigarette butt against the building. He pounded on the door, hoping the bastard was still in there hiding in squalor from his own responsibilities. For most of the week, Kurt had been gone – off tending to whatever the fuck the drug dealing asshole did. But the son of a bitch had shown up sometime late the previous night and was asleep in his bed when Tonny snuck out that morning to see Ø. Tonny waited a few seconds before pounding on the door again.

 _“What?!”_ Kurt shouted from inside.

 _“POLICE!”_ bellowed Tonny through the door, and he listened as Kurt smashed and crashed around the apartment in a panic. He snickered to himself before pounding on the door again. “Cunt, it’s Tonny! Open the fucking door!”

Kurt ripped open the door wearing exactly what he had slept in – a threadbare robe and underwear. “Tonny, you fuck. What the hell do you want now? Didn’t I just get rid of you?” He headed back into the apartment, leaving the door wide open. Tonny followed him in, closing the door and glancing around the messy smoke-filled living room. Kurt flopped back on the couch and fished a cigarette out of a pack of smokes. “You see Ø?” he asked, clearing his throat.

“Uh, yeah, and I can’t stay with him. He’s a fucking douchebag.” Tonny scoffed and scratched his head, suddenly feeling nervous talking about Ø. _Forget the fucking Serbs,_ he thought, swallowing hard. _I’ll be fine._

“That’s what I said; he’s a dick,” laughed Kurt. “So what, I let you stay a week out of the goodness of my fucking heart and now you want to stay longer? Fuck, Tonny, I don’t know.” He shook his head as he lit a cigarette. Tonny lifted his sunglasses and smiled a pleading grin, hoping to change his mind. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. If you stay though, we’re going out tonight. You got any money?”

Tonny smirked and pulled out the envelope. “Plenty.”

Kurt huffed out a cloud of smoke. “Then why the fuck don’t you get a room somewhere?”

“How’m I supposed to afford a room when I need all my cash for fuckin’ whores, Cunt?” he laughed, throwing half of the envelope’s contents on the coffee table in front of Kurt.

Kurt’s eyes lit up and he leaned off the couch to finger the bills strewn across the top of the table. “Oh, shit, Tonny. This from your sugar daddy, too?” He chuckled at Tonny’s sneer.

“Nah, it’s what your mom paid me for fuckin’ her last night,” snickered Tonny, falling back on the couch next to Kurt. He caught a blow to the stomach as Kurt punched him in the gut for his insolence. Tonny laughed and shoved him back, stealing Kurt’s cigarettes from his robe pocket in the process.

Kurt leaned back over the table again and reorganized the cash. “You’re a little shit, you know that? But I forgive you, because I think we’re about to get fucked _up!”_ he howled, counting the cash.

Tonny shook his head, watching Kurt literally fan himself with thousands of dollars. He knew there was something good in this life – there had to be – and Tonny was bound and fucking determined to find it, even if it killed him.

* * *

He drinks and drinks, and like a kick to the teeth, he hits that point – that glorious point – where time suddenly stops and he’s soaring. Nothing fucking matters – not to him or any other writhing body on this ethereal fucking plane.

Endless, bottomless glasses and bottles appear and disappear like flushed little ghosts following him down the bar, laughing and jabbering at his sentimental nostalgia – his pining for the past. Tipping drinks, he binges on the bygone to forget what brought him here – a brand-new but deplorable past, a thousand – no, a _million_ – miles away. Prolonged inebriation leads to reckless intoxication, his abettor lurking close, pushing fingers into deep and dirty pockets.

He hits the bed and laughs, stifling a sob that chokes him back with a memory that covers him in blood. This visceral pain, this burning chill, this bloody mess and happy pills mix and twist and dance like a sickness in his belly filled with guilt.

He is hated here, but he’s still welcome here, and he’s reveling in this ironic and guiltless thrill. He asks for more – no, _begs_ for more – drawing it out with every bill that slides from his sweaty palm – more time, more tongue, more lines, more cum.

More laughing and encouraging tugs come from these fresh new younger blondes, who stare down at his abyssal mass sprawled out like a shadow on the sheets. Their hands grope and stroke and steal from his pockets, take from his grip and sip from his drinks, crowding, and pushing, and grinding, and laughing – with him, and at him on the bed.

And suddenly his sweaty head drips down to the concrete, hot hands paw him, he stumbles over tripping feet, he clutches his face to wipe away the building heat, and he tries and he fails to stand up. He grabs for bars, or stools, or hands to throw himself back into the throng. His eyes are blinded with pulsing flashes – white hot heat, deep blue air, white heat … blue glare … white … blue … white … blue ...

Breathe.

Blink.

Breathe.

Minds dull and memories fade, speech slows, his blood gives way – it’s rushing – it’s racing – it’s ringing in his mind and in his ears. And he breathes – he snorts – he gulps away that sickening fear that explodes in his chest like a bomb.

Strobing photos of drunken fools blink and erupt into sound. Like a three-dimensional film – they jump and flicker, and before they know it, catch fire and burn to the ground. The music pulses through the air, coalescing with the flashes – and these marks – these kids – these new and drunken youth – rise like a phoenix from the ashes.

He fumbles and stumbles, grabbing clothes off of someone, who shoves him back and away from her sweaty skin. A couple bucks or an eightball, her choice, she’s just grateful and he steals this opportunity for an in. He instinctually winces in preemptive pain at the inevitable slap that doesn’t come. No, not a slap, but a tug, a pull, a leader to follow – and he does.

Bursts of doors. Bursts of laughter. Bursts of light suddenly blind him.

The delirium spreads through his veins and he can’t help but touch it, take it, taste it – this nauseous, caustic pain. Doors crash open, sweeping blow from toilets, cash from grips, smoke from lips, disrupting the menacing trades cloaked within. Hisses and spits of bitterness drip from the fiends who circle victims like shades, pushing sins on the weak and listless, who are caught in this trap set by pushers who do nothing but persuade.

Bodies smash into walls – pounding out in openness, ignorant of the voyeurs still cutting lines in the corners. They press harder and harder, louder and faster. The rhythmic music bleeds through the wall to set a pace, a clip, a pulse too fast to keep up with, so they drop where they stand to the floor.

Cold metal spreads across his back as his hands grope at loose pants until they fall – down, like him, like her, on knees. Laughter and screams fly high above their heads, getting lost in the bedlam of the club. Drunken squeals of delight echo noises and chaotic voices, and bounce off the walls that enclose them both in.

Wet feet slip on mud and bile, pockets dump across the tile, scattering pills that bounce like candy across the floor. Nothing matters and he falters back, crunching tablets into dust and cracks, and he falls back into that fucking, screaming body.

It’s now a race to the finish as the heat rebuilds, dry mouths swallow pills, and they suck on their bloody, salty lips. Questions like names tilt heads now ashamed, wondering where this wandering dick expects to slip.  

A brilliant gust of wind, and he’s led back out to sin in the even-nearer past of city sidewalks. Bounding through the darkness, back to old familiar ground, he is led there by his cock and not his mind. His hands feel sticky, like his eyes and like her lips and he pays out just enough to keep her his.

They crash back inside and his jumbled coked-up mind starts to question what the fuck he’s even doing. He’s got a kid, he’s got a life, he’s got a home, he found a knife ... and he laughs at all the pain that brought him here. But he’s an asshole, he’s a whore, the kid’s an angel deserving more and there is no way in hell he’s going home. But he’s got one drink to go – two groping hands, three bumps of blow, and now he’s gone, he’s more than done, he’s passing out, he’s fucking dead – like a bloody goddamn blow to his disrespected head.


	43. Thou Dost Deceive Me

Will’s hands fumbled down the buttons of his shirt, sharply flicking each one as they passed, still unable to feed them through the microscopic slits in his shirt. Why would they not feed themselves through their goddamn holes? This was the only goddamn job they had?! His head flopped forward to better focus on the tiny uncooperative bastards. With enough pawing they had to eventually undo themselves. The frustration only intensified as his hands and eyes no longer functioned in unison. Finally, less inept fingers appeared and unbuttoned his shirt for him, gently tugging it from his pants and drawing it apart. “I’m starting to think this was a very bad idea,” said Will, jerking up his chin and blinking away the fog to better view Hannibal’s blurry face. 

“Why do you say that?” he asked, leaned down to kiss Will’s sweaty neck. 

Will gripped Hannibal’s unbuttoned shirt, unintentionally dragging the sleeves off the man’s broad shoulders and letting it drop to the floor. “Because of a lot of things.” His tired voice, strained from hours of indirect and useless discourse, growled from his throat like the guttural roar of a drunken lion. Warm hands gracefully unzipped his pants. _This is not good,_ he thought, shaking his head. “Mainly because Tonny ran away because of, well ... because of this shit right here.” He winced and turned away, holding his now-churning stomach. “This is too fucked up.” 

Hannibal pulled Will’s chin back to face him and inspected his sluggishly dilating eyes. “Probably – what do you think?” 

Will’s voice slurred as his resolve waned in the overwhelming heat of Hannibal’s bedroom, “It’s wrong. I think we’re making this whole situation worse.” His eyes, heavy and weak, peered over his shoulder at the blankets and pillows. They could sleep. What if they just slept? No one could be offended by consensual sleeping.

The bed was right behind him; he could feel it pressing into his calves. Whatever they did, Tonny wouldn’t know. And even if he found out, he’d just run away again, and did that matter? Will panted as he wondered, his breath sweet and thick from the two bottles of Montrachet he’d consumed downstairs. Nothing worse could possibly come from whatever happened in that bed. Nothing mattered; it was ridiculous to even debate such nonsense.

Fingers slid down Will’s sides, snaking under the waist of his pants until they gripped and fingered his hips. There were no rules against amicable touching. Friends can touch each other. Tonny wasn’t even attached to Will anymore. Whatever happened was completely socially acceptable. 

Warm lips pressed into Will’s chin, lifting his head to expose more of his neck to be devoured. “If we’re making things worse, why did you follow me in here?” asked Hannibal, dragging the shirt off Will’s back. His lips returned to bare flushed skin.

“Because, um, I’m … upset?” Will leaned away from Hannibal’s lips again, reassessing his own willingness to continue. The murky fog of his inebriated brain was making rational thought exceedingly difficult. He turned and stepped away, rubbing his face. He needed time to process this disaster about to unfold. No, not a disaster – a deplorable tragedy. What the hell was he doing? 

Hannibal scoffed at Will’s poor justification. “You’re upset about Tonny running from your infidelity? That’s a pretty far-fetched excuse to come back to bed with me, Will.” He skimmed his tongue up Will’s neck until he reached the angle of his jaw and clamped his teeth on his ear. There was no fight in Will – no protest to stop. The walls built around him were crumbling as his denial evaporated into the emotionally saturated air. 

The alcohol still numbed Will’s body so the pain of the bite to his ear was ignored, his mind flooding with far more malignant thoughts. “But I _am_ upset,” he protested. He would not allow himself to be shamed, not by this conceited, narcissistic bastard. This was no time to debate semantics. He _was_ upset – he was distraught – he was guilty and being forced to justify himself to a man actively attempting to persuade him to do something they both knew was immoral. But Tonny wasn’t coming back. He was over this whole disastrous and toxic relationship. He finally did what Will had been too weak to do himself. It was over between them, so why not go for broke?

Will dropped his pants to the floor and drunkenly stumbled back on the bed. There was an ornate design sculpted into the ceiling over Hannibal’s bed and his eyes fixated on it. Was it a mermaid or … Poseidon? It was fucking ugly. 

Hannibal’s cocky leer gazed down at Will’s barely conscious and unabashedly naked body. Will’sface still scowled at the ceiling. “You’re a terrible person, Will,” said Hannibal, shaking his head. 

Will’s mind had clouded with a fogging stupor of self-loathing long before Hannibal’s flippant observation. “I know _that_ ,” he snapped, still glaring at the grotesque beast sneering back at him from the ceiling. He rubbed his running nose and swallowed back his mounting guilt as he felt the heat of Hannibal’s body climb over his naked skin.

“As long as you’re aware of your shameless disregard for your partner’s trust, I guess we’re fine,” said Hannibal, bringing his lips to Will’s mouth. They slowly inhaled the sweet breaths drifting between them as they kissed, ignoring their growing mountain of earthly sins. 


	44. Look and Pass

The rough mattress scratched against Tonny’s sweaty back every time he shifted his body. There was a strange blanketing heat draped across his side and he opened his sticky eyes to an unfamiliar arm on his chest. What the fuck had happened?

There were images of a pulsing club and the snapshots of an old, shitty apartment still lodged in his brain, but he pushed them aside, grinding his sore head into the mattress. Other than those fleeting memories, his mind was a throbbing wasteland.

The cracked ceiling hovering over him resembled a map of the Washington Metro system. A million years ago, the Metro had taken him to the Crime Museum in D.C. after Aksel had happened upon a stack of gruesome crime scene photos. It had been both a tragic discovery and an even more tragic trip. There was so much Tonny regretted about then and now.

He shook it off. Why was the goddamn ceiling cracking anyway? Where were all the fucking blankets? Why did the farmhouse reek of alcohol and sweat? He turned his head to peer down at the mess of blonde hair at his shoulder. It wasn’t Will, and this was not the farmhouse. It was Kurt’s apartment, and thankfully, this was not Kurt.

Tonny rolled out from under the arm and slipped to the floor. He grimaced, avoiding the minefield of used condoms dropped across the threadbare carpet. His clothes had been abandoned somewhere other than this floor, so he pulled on a dirty pair of cargo pants abandoned at the foot of the bed. The thick, pungent air from hot, drunken breaths amplified his disorientation so he stumbled out of the room, quietly latching the door behind him.

The rest of the apartment was still and empty, and he found himself leaning on the kitchen counter, staring at the muddy floor. He was back home. This was back home. It seemed ridiculous to imagine the last five years as a dream, but that’s what it felt like – a foggy memory of fist fights, messy beds, and trips to hospitals, bloody and bruised. Other than these hazy memories of broken bones and broken hearts from years ago, there was nothing in his head – no names or places from the past forty-eight hours – just sharp stings each time the kitchen light flooded his eyes. The rumbling of his gut quickly reminded him that he was not a floating, aching head. He was also a starving, thirsty body.

The nausea was draining. His cheek was scraped and sore. What had he taken? Who was that bitch in the bed? He focused, clenching his eyes shut and wandered down the black maze of hallways and doors that had always been in his head, but found nothing new. In fact, there seemed to be fewer doors, or perhaps just more meandering walls. This confusion was a tragically familiar sensation. There were always several moments of panic before the lost fragments of time stitched themselves back together. Until then, he’d just wait like he always had.

The cupboards held nothing but a box of stale cereal. The fridge, however, held no milk. Resourcefulness was not his strong suit, but Tonny had been in more dire situations. A forgotten canister of powdered creamer would make a suitable substitute for milk and after checking the contents for more sinister ingredients, he dumped the powder in a bowl. Cooking was yet another weak area of expertise. He survived just fine – eating and drinking whatever flavorless garbage he could scrounge up – but Will often took issue with Tonny’s definition of _fine_ and _survived_. This breakfast of chunky milk and soggy squares was far more terrible than he was expecting and Tonny found himself suddenly longing for the fully-stocked fridge of Hannibal’s fucking chateau.

His clothes were gone it seemed – and with them, his cocaine and the last of his cash. The location of Kurt was also a mystery but not nearly as important as where the fuck all his shit had been deserted. After dumping the remnants of his makeshift breakfast in the sink, he trudged over empty bottles and cans to the living room. He was piecing things together and finally remembered something important – something about the first night he went out with Kurt. In a brief moment of sensibility, Tonny had only shown Kurt _some_ of his cash. He reached under the couch cushion and praised the fucking lord. The envelope was still there and mostly untouched.

A short looping tune suddenly pierced the air – a bell and a whistle? – no, a ringtone from the bedroom, but there was no way in hell he was going back in there. It stopped and a delicate but gravelly, up-all-night voice worked its way through the door. The floor creaked as the woman stood and probably dressed. The door opened and a puffy, squinting face peered around the apartment. Her wearied gaze made eye contact with Tonny, who stood bleary-eyed and shirtless in the middle of the living room, still clutching the envelope. Kurt’s pants hung off his hip bones and he felt unreasonably self-conscious for a man who had presumably spent all night fucking this unknown blonde.

She stumbled over crushed cans, making her way to the door where her heels had been tossed. She was still eyeing him as she slipped them on, a disconcerting smirk spreading across her lips.

Something didn’t seem quite right here – cherry-red high heels and a weird black dress. No, not a dress – a long black tee-shirt – Tonny’s black tee-shirt. _Fucking hell._ That smirk was beyond irritating now.

She glanced at the envelope, furrowing her brows. “You’re all paid up, hun, but I take tips if you feel compelled,” she said, winking. Tonny shook his head and she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You’re a weird fucker, you know that?” She snickered to herself as Tonny continued to stare. “Do you remember anything?”

He cleared his throat of the thick, gritty milk. “No,” he admitted, fingering the envelope.

“You kept calling me Will,” she said, holding back a chuckle, “and trying to fuck me in the ass. After a couple of slaps, you let it go, though. Which was good, ‘cause I almost left.”

The tender bruise across his cheekbone made sense now. She was wearing several gaudy, gold rings. Should he even try to talk to this fucking bitch or just get her the hell out? “Was there another guy here, Kurt? Or Cunt?” he finally asked.

She shook her head, straightening her back. “I don’t do two at once,” she stated firmly.

 _Well that’s a fucking relief._ Her cell phone rang again and she answered it, leaving Tonny to his own disjointed thoughts. Waking up next to a stranger with a bitter taste in his mouth and a bloody nose was not really a terribly unfamiliar phenomenon. It was reminiscent of a life he’d almost forgotten here.

He dropped the envelope among the bottles, wrappers, and ashtrays cluttering the coffee table and fell back onto the couch. Though his temporary amnesia was not unexpected, there was a strange and unidentifiable soreness spreading through his chest and gut. It was intensifying the bitterness on his tongue and as he focused on that radiating emptiness within him, his forehead began to sweat. He almost felt regretful for whatever the hell he’d been doing for the last seventy-two hours despite having no idea what he’d actually done.

He closed his eyes, listening to the woman’s loud and panicked voice as it quivered across the room. Words were shouted and cursed and she slipped between soft, pleading tones in Danish and biting, cruel Swedish demands. She finally turned to the corner and lowered her voice in defeat.

Tonny ignored her and opened his eyes to survey the damage to the apartment. A few empty, clear plastic bags littered the floor and in addition to the trash, the coffee table was covered in microscopic flecks of white dust. He picked up a bag and smelled it, wiping the inside with his finger to taste the contents – bitter speed. He spit on the carpet, still fearful of Kurt’s potentially fatal rat poison stunt and picked up another bag. Its contents were somewhat more appetizing – cocaine cut with lactose; it’s always a little sweet. He checked his arms, no holes, and that broughtitss own sense of relief. Empty beer bottles and cans clinked under his feet every time he moved and he kicked half a dozen under the couch. Everything was a fucking mess.

The girl was still softly whispering, though now attempting not to cry. _For fuck’s sake._ The phone suddenly lowered and she turned to disparagingly flop down in the ugly-ass chair by the television. The last thing Tonny wanted to do was ask her why she was crying. She’d covered her mouth and was staring off into the acrid space of the filthy living room. _Don’t fucking ask. Just get her to go; make her leave. Get her the fuck out. You need to fucking think._

A deep voice echoed in the room. “You ok?” he heard himself ask. _Fuck, you idiot. What the hell, Tonny? Don’t fucking talk to her._

“No.” She paused, her face blank and weary. As if a night of heavy drinking and cocaine wasn’t enough to cause a person to regret every decision in their life, she continued, “My mom just got custody of my girls.” 

The grief she felt was tangible and certainly relatable, though it had nothing to do with him. He shifted nervously on the couch. Was he going to have to talk now? “Um, I’m sorry?” he half-asked. _Get her out, Tonny._ He picked up his cigarettes out of the mess on the coffee table and brought one to his mouth. Would she want one? He leaned towards her, offering the pack. _Come on, Tonny, just make her go._ When she curiously nodded, he tossed the pack towards her and it landed with a tap at her feet. _Nice, you fucktard._

She was staring at him now and he could feel a shameful wince erupt across his face as he averted his eyes. Carefully leaning down, she pulled out a cigarette, lightly placing it between her lips. Her handspawed her hips, an instinctive grope for a lighter, but Tonny’s shirt was as useless as the unlit smoke in her mouth.

Tonny fingered the lighter in the pocket of his unfamiliar pants. _Don’t be nice to her._ He could give it to her but she hadn’t asked for it. In fact, why should he? She was literally wearing the shirt off his fucking back. _What are you, a goddamn animal? Give her your lighter._

“Fuck off,” he snapped and the girl pulled the smoke from her mouth, her eyes falling to her lap. “Not you,” he insisted. _You’re an idiot, Tonny._

It was a stupid insult … _idiot_. He’d been called far worse. But _idiot_ – that was Will’s insult of choice and it echoed in his head, growing more painful with each iteration. He pulled out the lighter and held it towards her. _Light her fucking cigarette, Tonny. Don’t be a dick._ He grit his teeth. Would he look crazy if he punched himself in the face? _Fuck off,_ he repeated to the voice.

To assuage the bitching, he slid off the couch and knelt on the floor in front of her. He wasn’t rude. He was crude and stupid but he never meant to be rude to people. He held up the lighter as she tucked the smoke back between her lips and he lit it before flicking it in front go his own cigarette. Smoke billowed between them and he sat back on his feet to study this creature staring back at him. Her red, tear-filled eyes and her round face made her look like a goddamn toddler. But she seemed grateful for a cigarette and the shirt that covered her cold skin. She reached down and tousled his hair, feigning a gentle smile. He wasn’t fucking rude.

This smile of hers was unexpected for a crying, hungover bitch, but Tonny nervously smiled back anyway, still studying the whore’s puffy face. Tiny brown freckles had formed under her eyes. Her cheeks were blotchy and red from crying, or sleeping, or maybe drinking. Her hair was a matted, tangled mess and she sniffed her running nose almost as much as he did.

They stared at each other, sucking down their cigarettes until Tonny found himself clearing his throat, effectively breaking this awkward silence. “Can you get them back?” he asked, ashing on the coffee table.

Her smile had faded and her face fell slack. “I don’t think so,” she whimpered, “Not this time.” Her head shook as she processed her own declaration. “I can’t even afford the train to fucking visit them.” Her voice cracked. “They have to move to Stockholm with my mom.”

Tonny’s gut wrenched into knots. _They have to move to Stockholm_. There had been nothing more horrific than watching Aksel being torn from him as the police led him down the hill and away from his home. Cold cuffs still chafed his wrists and Will’s voice still shook behind him as he and his son were lost to an oblivion.

In this moment of brokenhearted solidarity, Tonny pulled the girl down onto the floor with him. He didn’t know her, but he knew that pain. It was a pain that radiated through his own body, Will’s body, and countless other bodies in the prison and the public that surrounded them. It was an all-encompassing emptiness as if your chest was opened and your heart ripped out with no mercy and no sympathy for the pain.

The girl wrapped her arms around him and cried, soaking his shoulder with the desperate tears of a mother about to lose her children. She sobbed as she spoke of her blonde little girls, just two and six years old, gushing of their charm and beauty and her unwavering love for them. There was nothing she could do – no penance to pay, no god to pray to, no help to speak of. She was alone and lost and her children were being taken from her.

She berated herself but Tonny held her. She cursed as she cried but he gripped tighter to his shirt on her back. She pleaded for more time, more chances, more faith, and Tonny clung to her like a raft adrift at sea. As though he could alter the flow of time, she pledged to him that she would change her life to keep them. She would do better next time and the judge would see it, if he would allow her just a little more time – just one more chance to prove herself.

He listened, stroking her hair as she cursed the world. There were no names to blame but her own so she did and she mourned. She wailed and agonized and screamed with heaving sobs, her broken heart full of what should have been unfathomable pain. But Tonny felt that pain. He whispered to her and held her and wished for her and her family a different kind of life – a life not full of agony and separation. There was no one on earth he’d wish that torment on. With no fight left in her body, she slid from Tonny’s grasp to hold her face in her shaking hands.

Five years ago, in an apartment not far from Kurt’s, a different girl with a not-so different story, had begged and pleaded to God to return her lost son. A monster had stolen him away, disappearing into the night. That child, years later, would be returned to her but was it by the hand of God or by the hand of the monster? Perhaps God had made a mistake – or perhaps it was the monster.

Tonny leaned back to retrieve the envelope from the table and dropped it in the girl’s lap. When she stared at it, unmoving, he opened it to show her the contents. She shook her head and fell back to his chest, her body collapsing into him. But her soft, red eyes, could no longer cry, so Tonny wept for her in solidarity and understanding, sympathizing with her much too familiar plight.

This city of his birth, this place he grew up, had been spitting in his face all his life. It had kicked him while he writhed, beaten on the ground. It had left him many years ago. This familiar place – these filthy rooms – were not where he wanted to be. This was not his life anymore. This was not his home.


	45. Battered by this Rain

The car’s dash read ten o’clock. Twelve goddamn hours of driving and there he was, sitting in the darkness, debating if he should return to a war zone. The only light illuminating his view through the windshield was cast from a lamp inside the living room. A faint glow framed the drawn curtains. Did it matter who was still awake? It was long past Aksel’s bedtime and he feared Hannibal may be the only one still up. No, it was probably Will, reading, pacing, or doing whatever the fuck he did now. If given the choice between either man, who did Tonny want to confront first? _Neither … those fucking bastards._

The exhaustion and hunger from the trip were gnawing at his gut. How much longer could he care about who was still awake? He was starving. He needed a hard drink and to see his son and neither would happen if he stayed in the goddamn car. He was an adult and this was where he lived. He was allowed to be there. After all, Will was a lying bitch and Hannibal was a manipulative cunt. He didn’t _have_ to speak to them. He just needed to see his son. Kitchen, drink, food, bed – that’s what he would do. He’d act like nothing happened. 

His feet, heavy and tired, crunched over the gravel as he neared the front door. _Just act like nothing happened._ He unlatched the heavy door and crept into the foyer, attempting to remain undetected. He could just go straight to the kitchen, bypassing whichever bastard was looming in the only lit room of the house, but he could hear the low rumble of stifled voices. _Several_ people were still awake. His eyes flicked through the doorway and caught sight of Aksel asleep across Hannibal’s chest. No one was in bed.

Will was standing by the lit fireplace, hands on his hips and ferociously grinding his teeth. His gaze slowly turned from Hannibal to meet Tonny’s sunken eyes as they appeared from the darkness of the foyer. The room was silent save the crackling of the fire. Hannibal followed Will’s gaze until he stopped on the unkempt man still eyeing Aksel from the doorway. Anouk turned from the couch and they all stared. 

It was probing and unsettling to have three pairs of eyes silently screaming at him from a dimly lit room. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Why were they trying to make him feel guilty? Tonny quietly cleared his throat, his eyes glancing between them. “I came back,” he whispered to no one in particular. Anouk nodded and weakly smiled but no other response came from the room.

Ignoring Hannibal’s bruised nose and intimidating leer, he mustered what fragments of courage still lingered in his feet and meandered to his sleeping son. He ran his hand down the boy’s back. The child’s mere presence – his messy blond hair, dirty fingernails, and wrinkled pajamas – melted through Tonny and he sighed at the warmth radiating from his back. This was why he came home. 

The anger and resentment coiled in Tonny’s chest seemed to loosen the longer he peered down at his son. He scooped him up and off Hannibal and held him to his chest, whispering his name. This was what he needed – his family, his sweet little boy. He needed his smooth, cool cheek against his neck, his soft pale arms wrapped around him, and his slow rhythmic heartbeat against his chest.

Over the last two weeks, their lives had been inundated with deceit, hatred, and a multitude of vices and sins. Their tongues seemed so overwhelmed that the household was now speechless. The next step was a daunting one and no one seemed willing to take it.

* * *

If it weren’t for the fire, the situation would have been much more awkward. The fireplace gave at least two-thirds of the three men something to stare at while they waited for the silence to abate itself. 

Tonny had finally taken a seat now that Anouk was putting Aksel to bed. He wasn’t prepared for this. The exhaustion was permeating his body to the point that he was questioning how angry he actually was, considering how focused he was on his hunger. His appetite aside, he couldn’t deny how hurt he still felt. It was a deep wound that ached in his chest. It was the ache of betrayal. He’d always trusted Will and it was frightening and unsettling to think that he couldn’t trust him anymore. The floor had dropped from beneath him and he was left grasping for anything he could find to keep from falling into oblivion. Will had been his rock, his ally, his most trusted confidant, and now he simply wasn’t.

Hannibal’s eye still bore yellowish-green bruising and Tonny swore the man’s nose looked a tad crooked. “Sorry about your face,” he muttered, now staring at the floor. There was a gnawing yearning to apologize for his behavior over the last few weeks, even if he had been the one betrayed. He was ashamed of how quickly he had abandoned his son to do nothing more than binge in Copenhagen. He was also left questioning his deep-seated anger towards the pair since previously he’d never cared where Will stuck his dick. Why this betrayal felt so painful to him was still a mystery.

“No harm done, Tonny,” said Hannibal, his eyes soft and amicable despite the harsh shadows cast across his face by the firelight.

“Uh, _yes_ harm done,” began Will as he scoffed. “You can’t just expect – ”

“This doesn’t concern you, Will,” interrupted Hannibal. He was closely studying Tonny’s body language and speech and was hoping Will would do the same. If Will actually intended on watching and controlling his rat, he’d have to better suppress his emotional outbursts. 

Will fell silent and he scratched his neck, breathing through his nose to calm himself. He wanted to scream but he grit his teeth to control the tempest brewing within him. He’d been yearning to list off every horrible situation he’d been put in while Tonny was off galavanting in Denmark, having fled from his adult responsibilities. Tonny was to blame for everything wrong with their life – the drugs, the jail time, the trial, fighting for custody of his son … these were all the tragic outcomes of Tonny’s irresponsibility. People were now dead. Their son had been robbed of his childhood. Their home was gone. His life had been stolen. And somehow this was supposed to be _Will’s_ fault for sleeping with another person. How trite. This was unjust and he longed to empty his disgust in a wild, rage-filled storm all over the child who was supposed to be his partner … but he couldn’t. 

His heart raced as he stared at Tonny, alive and safe in Hannibal’s home. He couldn’t say those things. He didn’t need to cause more damage by calling him immature and selfish. What Will needed was to weep with relief. His hands trembled with a desire to hold him. His breath stuttered from his lungs, carrying no words adequate as an apology for his betrayal. How did Tonny see him now? How badly had he hurt him? Was their relationship even salvageable?

Will swallowed down his self-loathing. He would not weep at this man’s feet. He’d show no vulnerability that wasn’t intentional. He pulled from within himself the strength needed to dampen his empathy for Tonny and corral his own impulsiveness. What bubbled up to replace those compassionate thoughts, was the anger and rage he felt towards Tonny and himself. The only emotions he could outwardly convey were the bitterness and hostility that had been fueled by Hannibal.

Tonny leaned on the arm of the couch, avoiding eye contact. He was broken inside and still sick from his overindulgences. The betrayal felt fresher since he had returned to the chateau, now that Aksel was out of the room. He’d begun to mourn the loss of what meager relationship had redeveloped between Will and him since his release from prison.

Will’s voice shook as he glared down at him. “Well, what the fuck were you doing in Copenhagen for two weeks?” 

Tonny wiped sweat from his cheeks and cracked his neck. He was not appreciating Will’s barrage of antagonistic looks, questions, and remarks. He wasn’t on trial. He was ill and regretful and Will’s hostility was agitating his desire to fight back. He didn’t want to be angry, but he was being attacked. “I’m not telling you shit now,” he snapped under his breath and he reclined on the couch, finished talking to that jackass.

Hannibal let out a long sigh, watching Tonny close up and Will potentially lose this opportunity to work with the degenerate’s mind. “Will, do you think you could approach this conversation a bit more tactfully?” he suggested, eyeing Will.

The smirk on Tonny’s face intensified Will’s rage and his body stiffened. He quietly huffed and attempted to pull himself together. _I’ll stay silent come hell or high fucking water_ , he thought. He couldn’t allow another smirk out of Tonny or another scolding from Hannibal. This whole thing was ridiculous.

Hannibal returned his full attention to Tonny, gazing apologetically into the man’s eyes, his voice soothing and sympathetic. “How was your trip?”

“Interesting,” said Tonny, wondering why he even cared. “Met up with a couple friends and saw Ø. I got a box of stuff for Aksel in the car.”

“That’s good,” said Hannibal, nodding his head. He smiled – a plea for peace. He was building trust with Tonny, not scolding him. He was calm and asking non-threatening questions, an attempt to work towards a reconciliation. Will was to follow suit. “Did you manage to keep my car in one piece?”

“Uh, kind of,” chuckled Tonny, a twinge of discomfort in his voice. “I wanted to sell it as soon as I got there but I didn’t. I think the back seat’s trashed though.” He had to cock a grin when his mind ignited with a new memory – one of him revenge fucking the blonde girl in the backseat. That was only moments before he _may_ have angrily sliced open the leather seat with a switchblade he found in Kurt’s apartment. “But, uh, thanks for letting me borrow it,” he added. He was at least a little grateful for the ability to make his humbling pilgrimage even if it was a _tad_ destructive. 

The shock across Will’s face had gone unnoticed as the two men spoke. Tonny was not only being civil with Hannibal but he had actually _thanked_ him. He _thanked_ the person with whom Will had betrayed him. Will knew Hannibal thought Tonny was a crude and uneducated criminal. Tonny was beneath Will – nothing more than an ignorant monkey – but Hannibal was feigning sympathy and remorse. This was an interesting development as it was obvious that Tonny was believing it, and it made Will study Hannibal’s behavior even more closely. 

Hannibal cleared his throat. “I want to say that I am sorry, Tonny. None of this was ever meant to hurt you,” he insisted, leaning forward on his knees. He unclenched his hands and lowered his head. “It was an unfortunate turn of events that I am deeply apologetic for. It was not a personal affront and I don’t believe either of us was attempting to hide anything from you.” His shoulders lowered and his eyes softened as he continued, “I am very sorry you had to learn of what happened from your son. I take full responsibility for that. I should have come to you immediately after you were released. I don’t want this to strain our relationship any further and hope that you can forgive me.”

Recoiling at his words, Tonny paused and quickly glanced at Will before looking back at Hannibal. He was shocked and flustered. What was he was supposed to say and why was Hannibal even admitting these things? It felt entirely out of character for the man to show remorse. Maybe he _was_ sorry for what he’d done. “Thanks,” said Tonny and he felt compelled to sit up straight. He never expected Hannibal to apologize, but he was beginning to feel that his actions in Copenhagen were completely and undeniably justified now. He was not only allowed to have been that angry but he was supposed to have been that angry since the injustice brought upon him was severe enough to make even Hannibal apologetic for his actions. He suddenly felt significant and respected by him and felt compelled to repay him slightly for his apology. “Oh, and I wanted to thank you for the money, too.”

“What money?” snapped Will. He couldn’t stay quiet. He glared at Hannibal. What had he done? Money meant drugs, lots of drugs. Money meant trouble. 

“It doesn’t concern you,” warned Hannibal and Will curbed his scoff, returning to his uneasy silence. “Did you get use from of it?” he asked. The envelope of cash had been a bit of a wildcard. Hannibal assumed he’d spend it on drugs, alcohol, and expensive prostitutes but it could have been stolen or gambled away or even used to pay a debt that needed collecting. He was genuinely curious.

Tonny nodded. “I did use it, all of it, I guess. Half went to help someone I met. They needed it, so, uh, thanks … again,” explained Tonny, nervously rubbing his chin.

“You used it charitably?” Hannibal smiled as his eyes lit up. This was interesting. Will noted this oddity as well.

“Some of it, yeah,” admitted Tonny. “There was a whore, I mean a girl – she needed money.”

“And the rest?” said Hannibal with a snicker.

The chuckle had Tonny hesitantly smiling as he reflected on his time away. It wasn’t all bad. “The other half I spent on whatever the hell I wanted,” he said, looking up at Will’s reaction to this admission.

Will knew his eyes were biting so he quietly turned away, still listening intently to the conversation behind him.

“Care to share your indulgences?” asked Hannibal, hoping whatever was said would grate intensely on Will’s nerves.

“Booze,” began Tonny, leaning back on the couch with a grin, “and a _shit ton_ of cocaine.” His eyes bore holes in Will’s back. “And I fucked a couple whores.” Would Will tense or shudder at the list? No, he didn’t. He stayed calm despite his internal storm.  

“Have anything to say to Tonny, Will?” asked Hannibal, shifting in his seat to watch the potential show.

Will collected his intense and scattered thoughts, concealed his disdain, and turned around, crouching down in front of Tonny. He relaxed his shoulders and slowed his breath as he gazed up at the smug face staring down at him. “I’m sorry, Tonny,” he began, intentionally averting his eyes. “If I could take it all back, I would.” His voice was pleading and gentle. “I hate knowing how much I’ve hurt you and I feel like there isn’t anything I can do to fix it.” He glanced back up at Tonny, his eyes dampening. “Even if we can’t fix this, I don’t know what I’ll do if you can’t forgive me.”

Tonny’s eyes widened. What the hell was this? He was expecting a shit storm of anger and accusations over him running away and yet here was Will, crouched in front of him, apologizing. The man was sorry. He wanted to make it right. This was bizarre, but Tonny was beginning to enjoy this sense of being wanted and worth fighting for. However, he still sensed Will’s betrayal even in his apology, and that worried him.

“I don’t forgive you,” said Tonny and he meant that. “But I forgive him,” he said, pointing towards Hannibal. He had no more grievances with that man. He was indifferent to him now.

Will maintained composure though the tempest within him raged wildly out of control. He wasn’t used to letting Tonny get away with such transgressions but if he was going to trust Hannibal’s instincts and work towards regaining authority in their relationship, he would suppress his contempt and swallow his pride. He avoided glancing at Hannibal at all costs.

“I understand that,” said Will. “What can I do, Tonny? What can I do to help you trust me again?” he said, lowering his voice. “How can I prove to you that I am worthy of your trust.”

Tonny cocked his head, wondering if there was some hidden meaning to these words. He wanted their closeness back. He wanted that dependency between them. He needed and wanted Will’s solace. But he didn’t want to go back to being Will’s second-class plaything, especially living so close to Hannibal. He didn’t know how to be Will’s equal. No one could _give_ him his dignity back, but could someone surrender their own dignity to him as restitution? 

An idea suddenly flowed through his body and Tonny leaned down to Will’s ear, his voice low and breathy as he spoke, “You wanna prove I can trust you? Come upstairs with me.” He trailed his fingers down Will’s arm. 

This couldn’t be happening. Will’s body stiffened at Tonny’s touch. This was deplorable; it was cruel. He ground his teeth, repressing the disgust building in his throat. He’d lost the ability to speak so he hesitantly nodded, reluctantly agreeing with Tonny’s bold and sadistic idea. This wasn’t a game, and his body wasn’t a token to be passed between players. 

Tonny stood and nudged Will away with his knee. He was content with his new mission to finally debase the man who had made a fool of him. When Will finally stood, mouth agape and horrified, Tonny winked at him and rounded the couch to head to the bedroom upstairs. 

He fucking winked at him. This was insane and heartless and Will stood motionless, dazed and clenching his jaw, rapidly hashing out escape plans. 

When his stunned mind failed to produce an adequate scheme, Will took this moment to finally assess Hannibal’s reaction to the whole ordeal. The bastard was arrogantly grinning at him, his arm’s crossed over his puffed chest. Will sneered at his audacity, shaking his head. _Fuck it all to hell you son of a bitch,_ he cursed to himself, realizing just how right that bastard always seemed to be.

* * *

Will’s bedroom was surprisingly clean considering the emotional state of the household. Typically, his environment was reflective of his mental constitution – cluttered tables, twisted sheets, and a chaotic mess across the floor. But his room almost looked untouched. The bed was neatly made and the overabundant vases of fresh flowers were still rendering the bare nightstands useless. There weren’t even signs of Aksel in the room. That was strange.

In the bathroom, Tonny gulped handfuls of water from the faucet and wiped down his face. The mirror reflected back a startling image of himself. His eyes were dark and shallow, his lip split, and his cheek was still bruised and scratched. Had he actually been in a fistfight? His uninjured knuckles told a different story. This was the work of an orgy of self-indulgence, not a physical fight despite the painful cuts and scrapes.

The bedroom door softly clicked closed and Tonny stepped out of the bathroom to gauge the contention radiating from Will. He looked pissed. But that wasn’t unusual. In fact, it was so expected it was almost comforting. 

Will narrowed his eyes as Tonny approached him. He was very uncomfortable with this situation. His disgust over Tonny’s implications downstairs still twisted his face in an unappreciative scowl. What exactly were Tonny’s intentions and how far was he willing to let him go?

Tonny shoved him back against the door. His hands reached up to grip Will’s hair and he forced their mouths together in a rough, impulsive kiss. He’d missed this. He’d missed attacking Will’s mouth like an animal. He needed to feel that physical connection again –to be with someone who wanted him back, not just a prostitute who was only willing to suck his dick for cash. The thought of Hannibal having had any claim to Will’s body churned his empty stomach. If they could just physically reconnect – just re-explore the thrill that had brought them together – everything would get better with time. 

Tonny drove his body harder into Will. The man was still rigid, unrelenting to the physical assault on his mouth so Tonny pulled away to consume his neck instead. If he could remind Will of what their old life had felt like – hasty, lust-filled groping and overcome with emotion as they consoled one another – he’d have to open up to him. Will owed him that, at least. They had barely touched in the last year and Tonny was desperate to bury the godawful past and forge onward. A new life was almost within their grasp but this mess – this bitterness and shame – would have to be dealt with first. He tugged on Will’s tee-shirt and wrenched open the man’s pants. They were going to finish this now so they could finally get on with their lives together. 

Will stared blankly over Tonny’s shoulder, letting him violently undress him. There was no point in fighting. Between the betrayal, the lies, deceit, and grief, fighting seemed moot. Why have principles? Why bother with self-respect? Hands scratched down Will’s skin, pawing at his naked hips, and he shuttered at the unwelcome touch. Life was nothing more than a depraved feast for the senses – opulent dinners to please the tongue, cocaine binges to alter the mind, sexual corruption to abate one’s carnal urges. He was in a rat’s nest of perversion and there was no way out. 

Tonny pulled himself from Will’s neck and grabbed him by the shoulder. He twisted him around, slamming his chest against the door and Will complied. Tonny could have his cheap thrill. It would all be over by the morning.

“Now, what I _should_ do–,” began Tonny between bites to the back of Will’s neck. His breath panted in Will’s ear as he paused to unfasten his own pants. He grabbed a fist full of Will’s hair and wrenched his head back so he could look him in the eye. “What I _should_ do is bend you over and fuck you til you can’t walk.”

Will’s eyes dilated and his breath wheezed from his lungs as he searched for a reply. “Are you going to?” he whimpered. 

Tonny scoffed, his lip curling. “No, Will. Because I’m not _a little fucking bitch throwing a goddamn tantrum_ ,” he snapped and Will cringed at hearing his own words parroted back to him. 

“So you got my messages,” he said, straining to look into Tonny’s eyes. The grip on his hair was suddenly released and he pulled his head forward to press his cheek against the door.

“Yeah, I did, you fuck,” snapped Tonny. “That’s some mouth you’ve got, too; worse than mine.” He crushed Will into the door with his forearm before finally backing up, allowing Will the space to turn around. Tonny nodded to the bed, ordering him to lie down. 

Will kicked off his pants and ambled to the bed, still glaring at Tonny’s lecherous stare. He was being forced to comply with the demands of the most irresponsible and morally-corrupt person he’d ever met. Of course, he was also being ordered around by Hannibal, the most arrogant and self-serving person he’d ever met. This was beginning to feel an awful lot like a puppet show and Will was not appreciating the implication that his body was at the whim of these two pretentious puppeteers.

Tonny slowly approached the bed, biting his lip. There were so many terrible things he wanted to do to this naked man – so many sick and twisted acts to perform on the son of a bitch. Rage still consumed him despite his yearning for the world to just stop and cease to be. Why did everything have to change like this? Why couldn’t it just be like it was? Tonny cracked his knuckles and clenched his fists still trying to decide how merciful he should be to someone as vile as Will.

This aggressive behavior was making Will’s heart race. “Are you high?” he asked. 

Tonny snickered. “No, but I could be thanks to your fuck buddy downstairs.” He crawled over Will who was still lying on the bed and continued biting the tender skin of his stomach and chest.

“Not high? Damn. I was going to ask for some myself.” 

Will’s joking tone forced Tonny to sneer at him as he laughed at Will’s feigned disappointment. “You’re an enabling little shit,” he chuckled, biting more flesh. “They warn us about people like you in NA.”

Will scoffed but finally felt himself relax as Tonny’s mouth licked and kissed across his body. This was a familiarity he had missed. Though the tenderness of betrayal still stung them both, there was a bizarre sense of relief they both shared having no secrets left between them. But guilt began to well up within Will as he stifled his disapproval for everything Tonny had done. Not protesting and allowing Tonny to feel in control felt like he was still lying to him and it ached in his heart. “Aren’t we going to talk about anything first? Like what happened after you left?” asked Will, craning to look into Tonny’s eyes.

“No. What I told you downstairs is all I’m gonna say. And I know you’re going to ask me why, so I’ll tell you,” he said, pulling away to look down at him. Will’s eyes had grown eager, desperately wanting to know what had happened in Copenhagen – who he talked to, where he went, and how he felt about their relationship now that it was fractured. Tonny paused, sensing Will’s desperation to know and he narrowed his eyes. “No, never mind. I gotta make you suffer first,” he said, returning his lips to Will’s neck.

“Haven’t I suffered enough? You just disappeared for two weeks. I thought you were dead,” said Will. He kept his voice in check, steady and non-threatening. Tonny had to open up eventually. Until then, Will would try to make him feel strong and powerful, but he fought with the idea of forcing himself to be submissive. 

“Suffered enough?! No, Will. You’re gonna have to suffer a lot more than just having to live with your fucking guilt for two weeks. You fucked a guy that I’d do anything to stab in the goddamn face.”

“I thought you just forgave him, and we didn’t fuck, Tonny.” He was quite insistent. 

“I know what you don’t call _fucking_. I’m not falling for that shit,” scoffed Tonny. “And I forgave Hannibal because I don’t wanna live here with this shit hanging over my head. Aksel’s too fucking smart, Will, he’ll figure it all out; he’s not gonna suffer because of me anymore.” 

Will bit his lip as he mulled over Tonny’s selfless declaration. He was accepting Hannibal’s apology, which was both humiliating and degrading, to keep Aksel from being forced to live in an antagonistic household. His cheeks suddenly burned and he turned away from Tonny’s eyes, profoundly ashamed of himself for the animosity he’d released upon his family. 

“You say you didn’t fuck him–” said Tonny, “but did you kiss him?”

Why was he even asking? Will’s jaw clenched and he slowly nodded. 

Tonny grimaced, imagining Hannibal and Will biting each other’s lips. “Knowing his cock was in your mouth is not as gross as his fucking tongue. The guy’s disgusting, Will. Have you seen what he fucking eats?!” he said, his nose still wrinkled. He shook his head to dissipate the distasteful images blooming in his mind before returning his mouth to Will’s neck. 

Will wouldn’t press the topic, but it was insulting to hear Hannibal demeaned in such a way. He wasn’t disgusting. He was intelligent and charismatic. Will could easily list all the ways in which Hannibal outmatched Tonny – he was well educated, had a respectable career, sophisticated hobbies, elegant taste … but it seemed inappropriate to mention that, considering the situation. “He’s not disgusting,” he whispered, suddenly overcome with a desire to defend his sexual preferences. 

“Are you defending that fucker?”

“No,” said Will, vehemently shaking his head. He inhaled a deep breath, refocusing his energy on boosting Tonny’s ego. “He’s not worth defending, Tonny. I just don’t want you to think less of _me_.” 

Tonny huffed and rolled his eyes, pushing himself up to stand by the side of the bed. His shirt dropped to the floor as he undressed. “I don’t think less of you, but I still think he’s a manipulative cunt. What you did was really fucking shitty but I know why you did it. You’ve always had a thing for him and I was locked up. I get it.” 

Will rubbed his face and looked away. Tonny was genuinely hurt and Will’s heart echoed that ache. “Tonny, I-I thought we were done. We talked and you wanted me to leave you alone. I was devastated by that – I really was – but I tried to respect your decision,” he explained. “I probably should have given myself more time …” He rubbed his forehead imaginable all the bad choices he’d made of the last year. “I never thought I’d be capable of betraying someone like this … I can’t express how sorry I am for what I did.”

Tonny narrowed his eyes and scoffed. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Will fell silent and sat up in the bed. “I’m apologizing for my infidelity, Tonny.”

“I don’t care if you fuck other people, Will. I’m pissed that you fucked _Hannibal_ ,” he snapped, stepping out of his pants. “That guy’s a fucking creep and I hate him.” He scoffed as he climbed back over Will.

“Oh, okay,” said Will, letting his shoulders fall back to the bed. Hannibal had been wrong. This had nothing to do with infidelity or control. Tonny was jealous. This critical detail changed everything. Will didn’t have to deceive Tonny. The man didn’t even seem upset. Tonny was letting the whole thing go. He was working through his own emotions and asking questions. He wasn’t threatening him. He wasn’t yelling or accusing or demeaning Will for his actions. Will’s own resentment, however, still churned in his gut and he was left reflecting on his behavior over the last year and wondered if most of their trust issues weren’t entirely his fault. Will pushed it all aside and attempted to return to the conversation. “But, again,” he began, sighing as Tonny nuzzled back into his neck, “Hannibal and I never fucked...” he trailed off.

Tonny smiled against Will’s neck. “Old man couldn’t get it up?” he snickered.

“Ca-Can we not talk about this right now,” stuttered Will as Tonny lapped at his collarbone.

“Oh, you don’t want to talk about how much you like fucking your goddamn doctor?” goaded Tonny as he slid his hand up Will’s thigh. “I’m gone for a couple months and you assholes start cumming all over each other.” 

Will snickered at this comment but composed himself quickly in an attempted to return to a more serious tone. “Please, Tonny, you have no idea how fucked up this is, you have to stop talking about him like that.” 

“How fucked up it is? Oh yeah … it’s seriously fucked up.” Tonny worked his leg between Will’s knees as they re-familiarized themselves with each other’s naked bodies. Warm hands gripped cool skin and fingers trailed down hips. They finally felt each other’s tension dissolving as they panted against each other's cheeks, hoping to atone for all their crimes with eager hands and even eager mouths.

Tonny smiled, working his arm under Will’s neck as he held him. “Do you want me to pretend to be him? I can put on a fucking sweater and bend you over in the kitchen,” he teased, chewing on Will’s ear. “Think you’d like that?”

Will tried not to laugh, but that idea didn’t actually sound that bad … _Wait, what?_ His face fell slack and he scowled at his own thoughts. 

“Or no–,” continued Tonny, still kissing Will’s face, “I bet you want a threesome – all of us together,” he said, chuckling. “Everyone sucking each other … you wanna watch that?”

Will snapped out of his fantasy. “Stop! You have to stop talking,” he whimpered, scrambling back in the bed.

Tonny paused, watching Will scurry away. “What the hell’s with you? I’m joking,” he said, laughing at Will’s bizarre reaction. “I’m not gonna suck Hannibal, Will,” he said, “He’s old enough to be my dad, for fuck’s sake.”

“Stop! Please stop saying … fucking anything, Tonny. Please,” he pleaded, holding his face in his hands. He leaned back against the headboard. “This is just … wrong, ok? Stop. It’s all wrong. All of it,” he repeated.

Tonny sat up. “Okay, Will, jesus; it was just a joke. What the fuck is going on in your goddamn head?” he said, growing nervous. He’d been enjoying _almost_ having jovial banter back with Will and even Will’s ridiculously touchy temperament was a little exciting to delve back into, but this whole situation felt strange. Will had been almost _too_ placid this whole time. His sensitivity was normally an endearing quality that Tonny loved. It provided him with a form of endless entertainment unique only to Will, but he wasn’t protesting even when Tonny threatened to ruthlessly pound him in the ass. He wasn’t fighting him at all. There was no scoffing, no eye rolls, no demands made or insults thrown. Except for this little issue that made no sense to Tonny, Will had let him do whatever he wanted without objection. Maybe he changed. Maybe he felt guilty.

“Just stop talking about him, ok?” pleaded Will, still holding his closed eyes in his hand.

“Jesus, fine,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Sounds like you’ve got some fucking daddy issues, Will,” he chuckled. 

“Just shut the fuck up!” he screamed, cringing.

“Okay!” Tonny scoffed at the horrified scowl across Will’s face. What the hell was his deal?

While Will was freaking out about his own deviant thoughts, Tonny’s sexual appetite hadn’t been particularly deterred by this bizarre conversation. He’d been waiting for the opportunity to feel normal again, so he grabbed Will’s ankles and pulled him down on his back. They were going to enjoy this whether Will was losing his mind or not. Tonny wasn’t about to let Will’s mental insecurities fuck everything up again. He nuzzled back into Will’s cheek, kissing his chin in an attempt to steer their thoughts down a different, more benign path. “I didn’t mean to run away like that,” he whispered. “I just needed to get the fuck away from all this.” 

Will sighed as he relaxed again. “I know … But we need to be talking about this kind of shit. Discussions are a lot better at resolving problems than just taking off like that.” He hesitantly ran his hand up Tonny’s back.

“Maybe for you–” He panted as Will finally began reciprocating his touch. “But I fucking suck at talking. I think I just needed to fucking think, Will.” 

Will nodded. Being thrust into the violent prison sentence and then ripped out and into a life surrounded by hostility was nothing short of inhumane. “When you’re willing to talk, though, I’d still like to know about your trip,” said Will.

Tonny looked into his eyes, biting his lip. “You won't be happy with what I did.”

“I promise to keep an open mind,” he said, hoping that was a promise he could keep.

Tonny returned his lips to Will’s mouth as he reached behind him, groping down his lower back. “What about right now? Openminded?” 

Will hesitated, a choking breath caught in his throat. Instead of attempting to speak, he nodded his head. It was all just about trust, right? Not a big deal. 

“Are you serious? Right now? You wanna right now?” asked Tonny, narrowing his eyes. Will tried to smile but that half-hearted attempt created just enough suspicion that Tonny quickly dismissed his own request. “It’s okay, Will,” he sighed, burying his face back in the man’s neck. “Sorry I brought it up.”

“No, it's okay – don't apologize. We can do whatever you want,” insisted Will. Why was he forcing the issue considering he was terrified by the whole idea? He tried to remain relaxed and tolerant. It was just about mutual respect.

Tonny kissed across Will’s cheek until he met his mouth, then pulled away, shaking his head. “I'm sorry you don’t feel safe around me, Will. I know I’m a dick, but I don’t want to scare you.” He looked into Will eyes, sincere and apologetic. He never wanted to hurt Will. Tonny didn’t pray on or punish the vulnerable; he couldn't. He was impulsive and immature, but never heartless. The man had no objection to harming himself, through vices or other forms of self-torment, but being sadistically spiteful towards others if the opportunity arose, was beyond his understanding. His ability to feel compassion and show mercy to those around him was a trait he’d had since birth, though he clearly hadn’t inherited it from his father.

A wave of shame flowed through Will as he focused on Tonny self-deprecating words. If anyone should feel unsafe or scared, it should be Tonny. The life they had built together had been full of injustices – Will taking more than his share of solace without giving in to any of Tonny’s needs. Will had badgered him, berated him, and at times, physically assaulted him when all Tonny had ever wanted was to feel close to him. Will tried to remain composed, holding back his need to weep, while Tonny silently watched him, confused and worried as always. When Will could no longer fight it, he covered his eyes, shielding himself from the man he’d so carelessly hurt. 

Tonny laid down beside him and sighed, not out of frustration or exhaustion, but rather resignation. He would never fully understand Will, but he had grown to accept the man’s unwavering demons. They struck at the most inopportune times and for irrational reasons. Unwilling to let the man he loved suffer alone, Tonny held him as he always did while Will shed his tears of unrelenting guilt.


	46. Hope Revives the Poor Wretch

It looked like the aftermath of a home invasion. The bed in Tonny’s room was a disheveled mess and the floor was covered in Will and Aksel’s clothes. Books and toys were strewn around the bed making it impossible not to trip. It was a disaster like someone had purposely come into this room to destroy it, and yet, it was profoundly comforting. This was where Will had been sleeping for two weeks. This was where he’d wanted to be.

The room was dimly lit by the single lamp on the cluttered nightstand and Tonny sat alone on the edge of his bed. His mind was dull and exhausted, tired of feeling anything. His world had become overwhelming but the perspective he’d gained on his pilgrimage had been nothing short of life-altering. He didn’t want to live like that, stuck alone on the street, at the mercy of the wolves who hunted there.

Will offered his life so much more than just a body, a wallet, or a roof. He had offered him a home, a family, and a sense of worth, though it may have felt hard to identify at times. As many problems as they shared, they were just that – shared. He wasn’t alone here. That was obvious as he looked around his empty room that depicted the distinct signs of life. He wasn’t alone here.

He hurt right now, but like the physical wounds he sustained in prison, he knew it would heal – all his wounds healed, eventually. He had a purpose here. He was a father to a brilliant little boy. He offered Will his grounding touch, his open arms, his accepting presence, and his endless and unwavering patience.

He turned off the light and laid down, slowly closing his eyes. He wandered down the darkened passages of his mind, fumbling back long hallways to find and explore a time when things might not have been simpler, but they certainly felt different ...

He hears and feels twigs and dry weeds snapping and crunching under his feet as he slowly approaches the truck parked along the tree line. _Where the hell is he?_ he wonders, scanning the surrounding field. He opens the creaking truck door and peers inside. On the seat among stained but empty coffee cups is Aksel’s blue and white knit blanket, delicately laid over the boy's car seat. Tonny drops and snuffs his cigarette with his boot as he carefully retrieves the blanket – it’s soft fibers damp and still warm. He takes a moment – an unselfish moment – to silently wonder to himself if this is the beginning of the end. It couldn’t be. None of this is anyone’s fault.

He closes the truck door and walks, now knowing where he’ll find him. He meanders through the field towards the stream and slides down the small embankment, careful not to drop the blanket still clutched in his hand. He wanders through trees, over fallen logs, caking his boots in mud as he ambles towards the small stony stream. There, on that bank at the edge of the water, he sees him, sitting alone on the ground, his face buried in his knees.

He doesn’t move as Tonny walks to him, the sound of wet stones crunching under foot. Other than the bubbling noise of the water, it is quiet – no birds or rustling – just relative silence. It would almost be peaceful if this wasn’t now a speculative graveyard. Tonny exhales a long, despondent sigh, throwing the blanket over his shoulder and slowly joins his companion on the rocky ground, staring out into the water.

Will’s eyes well up as he looked at him. “I wish you hadn’t brought it here,” he whispers into his knees.

“It’s just a blanket, Will. He’s safe. And this – this is real right now. Nothing’s gonna hurt him … or you,” he adds.

Will sniffs his nose, inhaling a stuttering breath. “But _I_ could hurt him,” he insists, his face contorting as the grief overtakes him. “ _I_ could.” His voice cracks as he begins to cry. “I’m gonna fucking hurt him, Tonny.” He sobs, stifling an all-encompassing wail with his hands. He buries his tear-soaked face in his arms, as Tonny, petrified with sorrow, looks on.

“You’d never do that, Will. You’d never actually hurt him.”

“You have no fucking idea what I’m capable of,” he snaps, his face now reddening with a terrified rage. He cradles his forehead and closes his eyes, defeated by the sheer magnitude of his worry. “You have no fucking idea …” he whimpers.

Tonny stares at him, anxiously fingering the edge of the blanket still draped over his shoulder. What is he supposed to do to make any of this better for either of them? He can’t change Will. He can’t make the hallucinations stop. He can’t even tell him it will be alright. So he slowly stands up and turns to walk away.

“What-what are you doing?” calls Will, his voice shaking as he scrambles across the stones. “Where are you going? Don’t leave! Please don’t leave me! I’m sorry!” he begs, now fumbling to his knees in the gravel.

Tonny stops and looks down at him, shocked and horrified by Will’s sudden panic-stricken pleas. “I was just taking Aksel’s blanket back to the truck, Will.” His voice is soft as he assures, “I’ll be right back.”

“No, no, just stay,” he begs, swallowing back his anxiety. His shoulders slump as he stares woefully up at Tonny. “Please just stay.”

Tonny nods and returns to him, kneeling in front of him on the ground. “Tell me what you want, Will. Tell me what to do.” His face is tense with fear and sorrow, his heart breaking as he watches Will cry. “I don’t know what to do, Will. I never know what the fuck to do.”

Will reaches out, desperately clutching Tonny’s sweatshirt and pulls him into his chest. “Just don’t … please don’t go,” he begs through tears. “I can’t be alone.”

Tonny wraps his arms around him, his hands gripping Will’s shirt as he engulfs him in a protective embrace. “You’re not alone, Will. I’m not leaving you; I won’t,” he repeats, his voice quivering. “I’m right here and I’m never gonna leave you …”

Tonny slowly opened his eyes, back in the darkness of the chateau, a noise having brought him out of his memory. Light from the hallway flooded the room before it was snuffed out again as the door was softly closed. The bed gently shook and gave way under the weight of the sweaty and shivering man who climbed in next to him. Tonny shuffled across the bed to wrap his arm around him, bringing the man’s soaked back to his chest. He pressed his face into Will’s hair and sighed. This was his role in their relationship. It was familiar and comfortable and it gave him the satisfaction of feeling needed by another person.

Will rolled over to face him, his hand grazing down Tonny’s cheek and neck. This was unfair and unjust but he was tired and broken and lost. He inched closer and kissed him, lingering slightly as he sighed. It wasn’t passionate, or romantic, or overly dramatic. It was a plain and uncomplicated apology – an offering of remorse for the inequity he’d forced between them.

Will trailed his lips along Tonny’s jaw to offer in his ear a more personal form of gratitude to the man who had suffered for so long at his hand. It was an offer of an intimate acknowledgment of his appreciation, love, and newly found respect for him.

Tonny nuzzled his face into Will’s but tenderly declined the offer, proposing instead his own physical invitation to the man he refused to hurt.

* * *

Will gazed up at Tonny who was straddling his body, completely and utterly awestruck by the sight. Beads of sweat were slowly dripping down Tonny’s furrowed brow as his hands massaged Will’s shoulders. This was not what Will was expecting when he snuck down the hall to Tonny’s room. This was healing. It was relieving to their emotional wounds.

Will’s eyes reverently explored Tonny’s body, watching his muscles tense, sweaty and flushed despite the cool October air drifting in the open windows. He pored over his slightly agape mouth which panted and gasped as their bodies coalesced in the dark. His breath mimicked Tonny’s as sensations ebbed and flowed through their bodies like the endless lunar tides.

Tonny’s exhausted eyes were closed and Will studied them, wondering where he was hiding in his own mind. Will was there, right in that moment, finally forgiving himself for letting his fear and shame deprive him of the pleasures of life. He had a lifetime of anxiety yet to shed despite Tonny’s constant encouragement to do so. When he thought back to how many times Tonny figuratively and literary held his hand through breakdowns, exhaustion, and panic attacks he wondered who was protecting who through the trauma of the last five years.

To Will, Tonny was the quintessential specimen of physical masculinity. He had a strong, powerful jaw and piercing eyes within which Will used to lose himself at every opportunity. There were only two people who Will felt comfortable enough with to allow himself to dive within their eyes. Tonny was the younger, jovial, more affectionate of the two.

Shaggy unkempt hair fell into Tonny’s eyes and clung to his temples, wet with perspiration. Every morning Will had found it’s haphazard disarray intoxicating, but it had been months – years – since he’d awoken to Tonny’s head nuzzled against his chest. The loving embraces of years ago felt unattainable now, broken and painful when attempted.

The bruises across Tonny’s body had healed, leaving only faint, yellowed flesh across his ribs and chest. His shoulder bore only a vague outline of a thin pink scar. His skin had lightened during the months he’d locked himself within the relative safety of his room at the prison. What dread and panic had he endured in tragic seclusion? He’d had no comfort to speak of – no body to lay against, no voice to whisper to.

Will’s eyes fixated on the black outlines of Tonny’s tattoos as he watched him slowly push his own hair back and out of his face, still rhythmically bringing their bodies together despite their mutual exhaustion. Pointed blades and flames adorned his arms, skulls and demons guarded his shoulders, and a spider’s web clung to the back of his hand – a reminder of his time in isolation. This appearance antagonistically screamed at those who attempted to get close to him, and yet, here he was, relinquishing his body and his control to, of all people, Will Graham.

How had this happened? Their whole relationship was still a mystery to Will and he often found himself, much like now, obsessively wondering how they had gotten this far still together.

Will panted as his eyes slowly closed. He fought to keep them open and focused on the man balanced above him. Unlike Tonny, Will had never painted himself as particularly masculine. He was awkward and anxious. His relatively thin frame and unthreatening posture had never screamed authority and he couldn’t remember a time in which he really felt admired or respected by anyone … except for Tonny. But why? Had Will really been unintentionally attempting to control him? Why did he have to manipulate the man in order to save him from himself? Tonny was tall and intimidating. He was immature and impulsive. But he was also sensitive and vulnerable. Will commiserated with his vulnerability. They were both damaged and broken. There was such satisfaction and relief in being able to be broken together rather than feeling inadequate with someone unlike them – unburdened and normal. Was this bond they shared about control or camaraderie?

Tonny continued to gently rock himself atop Will, though he slowed as fatigue overtook him. He leaned down into Will, brushing his lips against his forehead. He finally opened his eyes to gaze at Will’s enamored face. His awe and infatuated gaze made Tonny feel alive despite his wearied muscles. His hand lazily skimmed across soft, wet skin as it drifted from Will’s shoulder to hold the back of the man’s neck. 

“Where’d you go?” whispered Will, their lips grazing one another as they spoke.

“I’m here,” he promised, though his voice was weakened by his exertion. “I’m just so damn tired.”

Will gently drew him down to his chest. It was the first time in months that they’d been accepted into one another’s embrace, trusted and forgiven.

Tonny sighed against Will’s neck, discouraged and depleted. “If neither of us finishes again, we both fucking fail at life.”

“It doesn’t matter, Tonny. Just stay here with me.”

Tonny pressed his face into Will’s neck and exhaled through his fatigue, “Do you think we’re going to be okay?”

“I don’t know,” Will admitted, unable – though also unwilling – to lie to him as they held each other, open and vulnerable. “But I want us to be.”

Tonny’s eyes closed out of sheer exhaustion and he moaned as his chest relaxed against Will’s warm body. “Me too,” he agreed. The comfort of Will’s embrace and the fourteen-hour drive home was finally ensnaring him as he drifted off to sleep.

Will rubbed his cheek against Tonny’s forehead as he felt the man’s body fall lax against his. This heavy and satisfying feeling of restraint was reminiscent of the first night they spent in Will’s bed, drunk and fumbling together in the farmhouse. He kissed Tonny’s forehead and closed his eyes, naively certain that the worst was finally behind them.


	47. That Uncleanly Image of Deceit

“Do you want to watch something else or maybe eat something before bed?” asked Tonny, nuzzling his face into Aksel’s hair. The day had been arduous and the father and son were now sleepily lying on the couch, watching a movie and attempting to feel like a normal family again. “Aks?” he asked again.

Will peeked over the back of the couch and smiled at Tonny. “I think he’s asleep. I’ll take him up to bed.” He gently lifted the boy and carried him up the stairs.

Tonny sat up and looked around the dark, empty living room. It had only been a few days since his return but the house was already beginning to feel like a home to him. Several framed pictures of Aksel had been lovingly hung around the house. Though odd considering this was Hannibal’s home, Anouk had become quite smitten with his son, so Tonny brushed off this unusual observation as just her desire to make the boy feel comfortable and welcome there. 

While brief, these fleeting intimate moments with his son reinforced that their world – their old life – was possibly still within reach. That life seemed to slowly inch closer with each day and he was eagerly awaiting a time when they could all be together in peace and security. Aksel was growing and playing and had finally come to him for comfort. Will was becoming more open and accepting of their life and relationship and with that came a certain amount of contentment he’d not felt in years. Even Hannibal seemed less antagonistic towards him, a bizarre but appreciated change.

Will returned moments later and wrapped his arm around Tonny as he sat down beside him on the couch - an unexpected and affectionate gesture.

Tonny smiled at him. “And what’s with this?” he scoffed, nodding to Will’s arm draped behind his neck.

“I can’t touch you now?”

Tonny narrowed his eyes but snickered and leaned into Will. “Don’t start that shit with me.” He turned off the television and tossed the remote on the couch as Hannibal joined them, unceremoniously dropping a bottle of beer and a pint glass of stout on the coffee table. He sat down on the adjacent loveseat with his own glass, releasing a long-held sigh of exhaustion. It was an unusual sight, this tired and casual Hannibal, but the longer his home remained crawling with Will’s family, the fewer pretenses he continued to uphold. It was draining and frankly irritating.

He shook his head at the men cuddling in his living room. “I assume you two kissed and made up,” he scoffed and sipped his beer. “How long are you planning to remain on good terms? Forty-eight hours? I give it twenty-four.”

“Shut up Hannibal; you’re a dick,” snapped Tonny, retrieving the drinks from the table and handing the bottle to Will.

Hannibal chuckled and relaxed back on the loveseat at he studied the pair. “You two are the most aggravating individuals I’ve ever hosted for – what – seven months now?” He shook his head in disbelief.

“I’m not apologizing for shit,” scoffed Tonny and Will glared at him. A brawl solely due to Tonny’s antagonism was completely unnecessary. “He knows he’s a dick, Will. Look at him. He’s fucking around with both of us ‘cause he gets off on it. I know your fucking game, you bastard.” Tonny’s scowl slowly turned into a smirk as he glared.

Hannibal chuckled at Tonny’s provocation. “You caught me, Tonny; well done,” he said as he quickly finished his beer. “But you may want to watch your mouth. I haven’t particularly enjoyed driving around in the mess you brought back from Denmark and I may feel inclined to take my anger out of someone.”

“I apologized for that shit, so, we’re good now. Right, old man?”

“Far from good actually.”

Tonny gulped his beer, ignoring him. “What did you do with that box of shit in the back?”

“It’s on the porch with a garbage bag of trash you so generously left.”

Tonny stood and jogged from the room, heading to the porch off the kitchen.

Hannibal leaned off the love seat towards his retreating son and shouted, “You will clean out the rest of the car before I get the seat replaced!” But Tonny was already gone.

“Don’t bother,” said Will. “He’s not going to listen to you.”

“He’ll listen to me, one way or another.” 

Tonny quickly returned with the box and dropped it on Will’s lap. “No idea what’s in it, but Ø made me take it. Stuff from Charlotte, I think, from when Aksel was a baby.”

Will gazed down at the closed box. All that remained of his son’s biological mother was probably in that box. His heart throbbed as he slowly opened the flaps of the lid. Inside the box were a myriad of objects – a blanket, a stack of photos of Charlotte and her mother holding Aksel as a newborn, a stuffed fox, a few small empty picture frames, and a baby book. Will removed the book and flipped through its empty pages. What a horrible yet familiar feeling to have such hope for your family only to have it dashed and ruined as it’s ripped apart. The only two completed fields in the book were his name, Svend Olsen, and his birthday, July 6th, 2012. Will stared at his own birthday on the page and cocked his head in thought. He looked up, he eyes locking with Hannibal’s.

“How did you know Aksel’s birthday?” he asked, recalling Hannibal’s insistence that the boy and he shared a birthday.

Hannibal’s expressionless face stared back as he constructed his story. “It was on the relinquished custody form.”

“You only signed the forms, Hannibal. I read them, and I don’t recall it being written on anything you handled. If it had been, I would have seen it.” Will stared at the man, his mind a contentious mess of possible explanations.

“What day is it?” asked Tonny tilting the baby book to glance at the page. “That’s your birthday, Will. That’s fuckin’ weird,” he said before noticing the intense stare between Will and Hannibal. “What the fuck’s up with you two?”

“Why did you just lie about that?” questioned Will, his eyes still furrowed in confusion and thought.

Hannibal sighed and cleared his throat. “I may have done some research on your family,” he admitted.

“So you … you figured out who Aksel’s birth mother was. And you got his birth date.” Will paused. “What else did you find out, Hannibal?”

Tonny glanced between them, confused and now incredibly tense for some unknown reason.

“Just a few facts, Will.”

“What facts?” he pressed.

“A few names and a few dates.”

“Just names and dates. For … future reference I assume?” he noted. For what reason would Hannibal need personal information about Tonny and Aksel? Will’s chaotic thoughts slowly began aligning.

Hannibal nodded. “For future reference, Will,” he repeated, straightening his posture.

“Huh,” huffed Will, nodding his head, his gaze locked on Hannibal. “That’s quite a story,” he said and he took another sip of his beer.

“Is it?”

“It is to me.”

“What the fuck are you two talking about?” scoffed Tonny. “I’m getting another beer, you want one?”

Will ignored him, his eyes still fixed on Hannibal. He paused and slowly sat up. “You have my attention, Hannibal. Anything you want to tell me?”

Hannibal grinned. “Would you like another beer, Will. I make it myself.”

Will slowly looked at the bottle, swirling the dregs in the bottom. “No … thank you.”

Tonny shook his head, oblivious to whatever these two lunatics were doing, and hopped up from the couch to refill his beer. 

“You must think me a fool,” said Will, setting his bottle on the coffee table and leaning back on the couch.

“Not at all, Will. You’re overly optimistic – blind, perhaps – and certainly in denial, but not a fool.”

“You couldn’t imagine what the fallout would be? You just heartlessly rip a family apart for fun? Why? Why would you do that?”

“It was the right thing to do,” he stated calmly, leaning forwards on his knees.

“So was it the guilt that forced you to let us stay here?” he snapped, “While we pieced our broken lives back together?”

“It was the least I could do.”

Will shook his head in disgust. “This is unbelievable.” He was aghast and horrified. “Was it fun, Hannibal? Fun to watch us run around like little fucking rats? Did we put on a nice show for you?” he sneered.

Hannibal sat back and bit his lip as he watched Will cradle his face in his hands. Tonny returned to the room with a new glass of beer, already half gone, and accessed the state of the two men.

“What the fuck happened in here? I leave for a second …” He plopped down next to Will. “What the hell did he say to get you so fucking mad?”

Will slowly turned to him. “He’s a dick, Tonny, you were right.” He sighed, glancing up at Hannibal. The man was shaking his head. “He’s who turned you in.”

“What do you mean?” asked Tonny. He looked at Will, connecting the dots in his buzzing head. “Wait, like … at New Years?” he slowly turned towards Hannibal, the rage building behind his eyes. “You mother fucking bastard!” he growled.

“Funny you should word it like that …” retorted Hannibal with a grin.

“I’m going to fucking kill you, you son-of-a-bitch!”

Tonny lunged off the couch but Will hauled him back, yanking him into his chest. “For fuck’s sake, Tonny, what are you going to do? Break his nose again?” he snapped, fighting to keep him restrained.

“Are you still fucking defending him?!” roared Tonny, struggling to stand.

“No! I just think assaulting him is a horrible fucking idea, you idiot!”

“He’s more than welcome to, Will,” chimed Hannibal, still grinning. “A fight won’t last long, I assure you.”

“Oh shit, you fucker!” Tonny’s wrenched against Will’s hands attempting to pry them off him.

“Stop it! Both of you! You aren’t children!” he pleaded, struggling to restrain Tonny. “And you Hannibal, stop being an asshole!”

Hannibal chuckled at the struggling pair. “Would it help if I apologized? I can appear sincere if that would help.” He winked at Will who’s eyes grew wide with fury.

Will momentarily debated letting go of Tonny but immediately rejected the notion, saving Tonny the monumental embarrassment of having his ass handed to him by Hannibal. Tonny continued to fight him. “Fuck! Tonny, stop. Look at me, stop!” he begged. “I’m pissed too, but you have to calm down!”

Tonny huffed, but ceased struggling and Will hesitantly leaned off his chest. Tonny slowly sat up and stared at the floor, gritting his teeth.

“You’re a piece of shit, you know that,” declared Tonny, unable to look at him.

“Tonny, you served your time. Your slate is clean. You should be thanking me,” explained Hannibal. “You no longer have to hide. Just remember who did that for you.”

“Oh, don’t listen to his shit, Tonny,” snapped Will, sneering at Hannibal.

“Let’s not simply forget the last seven months, Will. I remember it quite well, as does my bank account. For a life expunged of warrants for child abduction and murder, I’d say you made out fairly well.”

Will scoffed and rolled his eyes at the man’s unmitigated arrogance … though, he did have a point. Will berated his mind for even momentarily substantiating the sadistic bastard’s claim. He had destroyed their life. Hannibal had ripped Aksel from them. He’d forced Tonny into prison that was both physically and emotionally traumatizing him. The man was fucking evil.

After several minutes of Will and Tonny attempting to come to terms with the fact that nothing the did now would change anything about the past, Hannibal cleared his throat. “Well gentlemen, as much as I would like to continue this discussion, I’m afraid I’m heading to bed. I’m sure you have a lot to think about and tomorrow is a new day.”

Will shook his head in disgust that Hannibal could be so nonchalant about his malicious actions. He and Tonny watched him smile and stand and head up the stairs, both dumbfounded and appalled by the evening’s revelation.

“What the fuck was that?” asked Tonny, still in shock. “So, you fucked the guy that sent me to fucking prison?!”

“For god’s sake, Tonny, that’s what you’re worried about?! Jesus!” Will rubbed his forehead, his mind an agonizing pulp of emotional turmoil.

“I told you he was an asshole!” insisted Tonny as he stood to pace the room. “Why the fuck didn’t you listen to me!”

“Tonny, I’m sorry, ok. He’s a dick. I’m an idiot. We have bigger issues now, like how the hell to get away from the bastard.”

“Oh, so you want to get away from him now!? – after he fucking _confesses_ to being a dickhead! But not when I say he can’t be trusted four _fucking_ years ago!”

“Let it go, Tonny! We have to figure out what we’re doing. Fuck, I feel sick,” said Will covering his mouth.

Tonny finally noticed how pale Will had gotten and kneeled down in front of him. Will’s eyes were glassy and empty like he was filled with an icy terror. He looked like he was about to vomit. “Will, are you okay?”

He slowly shook his head. “No. I have a really bad feeling about this.”

“Will, why don’t you just go up to bed with Aksel, okay? Get some rest. We can talk more in the morning.”

“What are you gonna do?” asked Will, anxiously wringing his hands.

“Fuck, I don’t know, but I can’t sleep now. I’m going to have a couple more beers first then I’ll be up, okay?”

Will slowly nodded and stood up, his nerves shot and his body shaking. Tonny wrapped his arms around him, comforting and reassuring them both. “Nothing’s changed, Will. It’ll all be okay. Get some rest.”

Will nodded, certain this was all going to end very very badly.


	48. To be Rude to Him was Courtesy

It was unnatural for Hannibal to be awoken suddenly unless there was a serious problem lurking around him, possibly unseen. He looked around his room wondering what had startled him from his sleep. There was no Will curled up next to him, no sounds of Aksel crying or coughing in the night. All was silent, so why was he awake?

He threw back the covers and scanned the room suspiciously. He quickly pulled on pants and a tee shirt and slowly opened his door, stepping warily into the darkened hallway. He slowly crept past Will’s room and heard no noise from within, so he slowly made his way down the hall keeping his back along the wall. His eyes continually scanned the darkness. Something was definitely wrong.

He ascended the steps quickly, keeping his form hidden in the shadows and corners of the room as he heard nearly inaudible whispers in the kitchen. He silently slipped into the dining room and peered unnoticed into the kitchen which was only lit by a series of small sconces along the wall.

Two men nervously stood in the middle of the kitchen staring down at the floor just beyond the island. Hannibal leaned slightly, seeking a better vantage point. One man bore a shaved head and they both were dressed in black clothing. They wiped their sweating brows with gloved hands and seemed to be quietly arguing with each other over whatever it was they were staring at on the floor. Hannibal silently worked his way through the dining room to the second doorway and peeked into the kitchen from the more advantageous angle.

At the men’s feet, he could discern a bloody hand just barely visible from behind the edge of the island. He quickly returned his back to the wall as the men began attempting to move the apparent body that had been dropped in the middle of the floor. Hannibal cleared his head and rescanned the kitchen with a quick glance making sure to check the cellar door for any sign of tampering. The door was still sealed, and he saw no guns nor bludgeoning weapons, but his knife block was suspiciously missing from the countertop. He collected himself and slowly stepped into the dim light.

Initially, he remained undetected. The men were pulling and struggling with the body on the floor. It wasTonny. Blood seeped from a wound on his head and pooled under him, gradually absorbing into the neck and shoulder of his white shirt.

“If you do not panic, I will allow you to leave unharmed,” stated Hannibal from the near darkness.

The men spun around, dropping Tonny’s feet and searched the shadows for the voice.

“Did you hear me?” asked Hannibal from behind the dining room wall once again. “You can leave unscathed if you do not panic.”

“Who the hell is that?” one of the men asked in a whisper. Hannibal watched the second man slowly peer towards the dining room.

“Answer me,” insisted Hannibal.

“Come out where we can see you,” demanded the bald man.

Hannibal slowly reentered the kitchen with his hands raised.

“Who the hell are you?” the man demanded to know.

“I own this house.”

“You should have stayed in bed, old man.”

Hannibal remained silent, assessing Tonny’s head wound. “What do you want?”

“This piece of shit and that’s it. Just stay back,” he said holding up a handgun he’d pulled from the back of his pants.

“I have no intention of stopping you if what you came for is that man,” said Hannibal, gesturing towards Tonny.

The man scoffed, “What the fuck is it with his guy. Everybody wants rid of him,” he chuckled. The second man began gathering up Tonny’s legs and feet. The gun remained pointed at Hannibal who was slowly inched closer to the pair.

“You better back the fuck up old man,” the man threatened, shaking the gun at him as a reminder.

Hannibal nodded and halted, keeping his hands raised. “Do you need help loading him into your car?”

The two men slowly turned towards Hannibal unsure if they heard him correctly.

“You are doing me a favor by taking him, believe me,” he continued as he watched the two men glance at each other. Hannibal slowly began lowering his hands. “May I at least open the door for you?”

The men attempted to assess Hannibal’s motives to no avail. They shrugged at each other and grimaced at the bizarre turn of events.

“He has been nothing but a nuisance and I would be glad to be rid of him if you will let me help.” Hannibal continued stepping towards them again. “I will neither call nor report this to the police. I will not attempt to hurt you. I just want this man out of my home.”

“Open the door,” demanded the bald man.

Hannibal backed out of the kitchen and unlocked the front door, swinging it wide open. He turned to face the men who now carried an unconscious Tonny by the feet and shoulders. They wearily eyed Hannibal as the maneuvered past him and through the front door.

“Where are you parked?” ask Hannibal as he followed the men outside. The lackey nodded towards a darkened area beyond the garage. Hannibal walked ahead of them to pop the trunk.

The men slowly and apprehensively approached him, eventually rolling Tonny into the back of the car. Before they could latch the trunk, Hannibal stopped them and rubbed his wrists. The bald man nodded and pulled zip-ties out of his boot and bound Tonny’s wrists and ankles. He stared at Hannibal who was calmly inspecting Tonny as the trunk latched closed.

“Why are you helping us?” nervously asked the bald man, slowly pulling the gun back out. Hannibal watched him brandish his weapon and gradually raised his hands once again.

“I told you. I want rid of him. This was just an interesting coincidence,” he calmly stated. “Now, I don’t know who you work for,” began Hannibal, “but tell him to go slow with this one. Tell him to take his time. Savor it. Enjoy every second of his pain.”

The lackey glanced at the bald man before focusing back on Hannibal. “Who is he to you?”

Hannibal smiled. “He’s my son,” he admitted.

Both men chewed their lips and shuffled uneasily on their feet as they glanced at one another nervously. “Get in the car,” the bald one ordered and the lackey ducked in the passenger’s seat. With the gun still aimed at Hannibal, the bald man rounded the car and slid in the driver’s seat. Hannibal lowered his hands and watched the car start and quietly pull away.

He swiftly re-entered his home and crept back up to his room. He grabbed his black medical bag and shoved it in his backpack. He changed his clothes, dressing in his armored leathers as he noticed through his window a line of headlights heading towards the chateau. What was this new complication?

He hastened his pace as he threw on the pack and headed down the hall, quickly and quietly sliding down the steps. He swiftly veered into the kitchen, assessing the scene. The pool of blood had been smeared along the tile floor and drips snaked their way towards the front door. Hannibal avoided the blood trails as he glanced along the edge of the cellar door. There were pry marks along the wood and his eyes followed the line of the door to the floor where he could barely see the edge of a small crowbar barely visible from under the island. The door, however, was still locked. Hannibal shook his head. Tonny had been interrupted in his attempt to find out more secrets. Hannibal hurriedly unlocked the cellar door and rushed down the steps.

He emerged only moments later as he relocked the cellar and fled through the patio door off the kitchen, heading towards the garage. He hoisted the door and made his way to his bike, hastily grabbing supplies from the walls as he walked. He was donning his helmet when the line of headlights pulled down his driveway. He ducked down, crouching behind the wall, and watched through his helmet as four police cruisers formed a line across the driveway in front of the house.  

From his crouch, he scanned the line of cars as six police officers exited and approached the house from multiple angles. Hannibal waited and tracked the officer closest to him as the man walked around the garage to the back of the building and towards the patio door. Once all the officers were accounted for he stood and quietly put his bike in neutral, slowly walking it into the darkness of the cypress trees that lined the driveway.


	49. The Effect of his Malicious Thoughts

_How could this happen? How could he lie to me? Why did I believe his lies? Why would he do this to my family? He wasn’t trying to help us, he was trying to hurt us – his blood, his own flesh and blood. He waited in the wings to destroy us._

_I am a patsy._

_He thinks himself a master and I am a toy – his plaything, his rat. I fell for his narcissistic lies and he basked in my gullibility. He basked in my misery and in my ignorance. He charmed me and tricked me and he watched me gladly and willingly accept my fate with him. My fate – he made himself my fate. I said I found him by ‘divine intervention’ … I called him a god, and he basked._

_I am a wretch under his foot._

_He respects no one and he deceits and connives in a way that would give Machiavelli pause. He holds nothing sacred but his actions. How blind am I? How could I not see the forest – his hot humid forest – a trap he so effortlessly set for me? How did I not see his duplicity and his cynical disregard for morality? And I indulged his whims. Oh god … his fucking whims. They almost cost me my family. He stole my dignity and he laughs with a sadistic indifference to my pain. He laughs in my face._

_I am a fool._

_Why did I not see his malice? He feels no remorse, no guilt, no shame for what he has done to me. He is heartless and jealous and a cruel, soulless animal. He thinks he should be praised. He set up our battle and he watches with amusement as our pain and turmoil gratify his impulses. That cruelty comes with a price. That price is human decency. That price is empathy. Without mercy or sympathy or a shred of compassion he is left alone with his psychopathy – his psychopathy … his dark, malevolent psychopathy ..._

And Will, still lying in bed, was suddenly startled by a pounding at the front door.


	50. Eat of Us

It had not been intentional, this sinking ship before him.

He had tried on many occasions to stop Will from incriminating himself. But despite his ego, even Hannibal could slip up, and he accepted that. They were a terrible distraction after all.

From the shadows of the cypress at the end of the drive, Hannibal keenly watched through his helmet as the police handcuffed and slowly escorted Will from the house to a cruiser. What a sight. The man was frightened and begging Anouk, who stood shocked in the doorway, to call someone. _Jack_ , he surmised.

Will was, no doubt, frantically probing his mind in search of rational explanations, something he could tell the police to stop all this. After all, both Tonny and Hannibal had essentially vanished in a matter of hours and he was left abandoned in this, his most critical hour of need.

Police emerged from the house carrying bags and Hannibal recalled the large pools of blood he had casually avoided on the kitchen floor. He hissed through his teeth. _Sorry about that, Will,_ he thought. Bad timing.

Will was agitated and horrified by the bloody house. He frantically glancing around, shaking his head as he spoke with the Chief at the side of a vehicle. It was a heated discussion by the looks of it. Will’s eyes scanned the scene, attempting to pry into the darkness that surrounded him all sides. His eyes pierced the blackness as though they would fall upon an answer to his crisis.

Hannibal huffed and bit his lip at the sight of Will scouring the world for help. He shook his head. _I would help if I could,_ he thought. But that would be a bit self-destructive at this point and besides, Will was growing somewhat disinteresting to him.

His eyes fixed upon Will and he smiled. “Godspeed, Will,” he whispered, and his bike started with a low rumble. Flicking stones into the air behind him, he sped off into the blackness having made his choice. He’d pursue and punish the men that had abducted his son, in lieu of saving his drowning rat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 4 is in the works and thank you for reading! <3 
> 
> I wrote all 3 parts of TDT back to back, so to give myself a break I began working on a 1970s Hannigram trucker AU, [Unhitched](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11745507/). It's a new style, but you may enjoy it.


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